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MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


*i  1 


■     ; 


Daughters  of  Genius-. 


^EI{iES    Olj    ^Etcl^ES 


OP 


AUTHORS,  ARTISTS,  REFORMERS,  AND  HEROINES, 

QUEENS,  PRINCESSES,  AND  WOMEN  OF 

SOCIETY,  WOMEN  ECCENTRIC 

AND  PECULIAR. 


Fli  OM  THE  MOST  RECENT  AND  A  UTHENTIC  SO  URCES. 


By  James  Parton, 


AUTHOR   OF 

LIFE   AND   TIMES   OP    BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN,    LIFE    OF  THOMAS   JEFFERSON,    LIFE  OF   VOLTAIRE, 

GENERAL    EUTLEK    IN    NEW    ORLEANS,    LIFE    OF    AARON    BURR,    TEOhLK's    BOOK 

OF  BIOGKArHY,  LIFE    OF   ANDREW   JACKSON,  ETC. 


Illustrated. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
HUBBARD  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 

1886. 


Copyright,  by  Hubbard  Brothers,  1885. 


120. 7  L/aj 


PREFACE. 


THE  most  important  result  of  the  better  civilization 
of  our  time  is  the  increased  power  of  women.  We 
know  that  in  limited  spheres  their  influence  was  always 
incalculably  great ;  but  now,  without  losing  their  ascend- 
ancy at  home,  they  find  a  career  in  many  of  the  trades, 
most  of  the  professions,  and  all  the  arts.  In  those  of  the 
arts  which  give  the  most  lively  pleasure  and  reach  the 
greatest  number  of  persons,  namely,  fiction  and  the  drama, 
women,  in  our  day,  have  attained  the  first  rank,  and  have 
made  the  first  rank  higher.  As  reformers  and  world-im- 
provers, what  men  have  surpassed  the  single-eyed  and  cour- 
ageous devotion  of  such  women  as  Miss  Martineau? 

We  can  set  no  limit  to  their  future  achievements  except 
those  which  nature  herself  has  established.  So  long  as 
the  chief  business  of  every  state  was  to  defend  itself 
against  armed  encroachment,  all  gifts  and  all  character 
were  of  necessity  subordinate  to  masculine  force.  Women 
were  "  the  subject  sex."  The  peace  and  safety  resulting 
from  the  union  of  many  states,  and  to  become  universal 
through  federation  and  arbitration,  will  still  further  reduce 
the  importance  of  muscle  and  brawn.  The  time  is  not 
very  distant  when  the  ballot  will  have  rendered  the  bullet, 
not  monstrous  merely,  but  ridiculous,  and  when  there 
will  be  no  "  campaigns  "  except  those  of  the  blest  Ameri- 
can pattern,  fought  out  in  the  pleasant  autumn  days  with 
speeches,  processions,  fireworks,  and  bands  of  music. 

(3) 


4  PREFACE. 

In  this  volume  are  presented  some  examples  of  women 
who  have  risen  to  the  better  chance  afforded  them 
through  the  general  amelioration  of  manners.  The  most 
fortunate  of  them  have  been  cruelly  obstructed  by  the 
large  remainder  of  barbarism  which  exists  in  every  com- 
munity, and  they  have  done  their  work  in  the  teeth  of  every 
conceivable  disadvantage.  They  have  had  to  snatch  it 
from  a  cross-fire  of  hostile  circumstances.  That  Charlotte 
Bronte,  that  Mary  Anne  Evans,  that  Mrs.  Stowe,  should 
have  been  able  to  exercise  their  beautiful  talents  at  all, 
was  wonderful.  That  they  should  have  employed  them 
so  triumphantly,  is  a  kind  of  miracle,  at  which  we  can 
but  stand  amazed.  In  reading  of  their  exploits  we  per- 
ceive that  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was  one  of  their  kind,  and 
saved  her  country  by  the  exercise  of  qualities  akin  to 
theirs. 

One  pleasing  duty  remains  to  me.  In  the  preparation 
of  this  volume,  I  have  received  the  most  essential  and 
efficient  assistance  from  my  beloved  niece,  Miss  Ethel 
Parton.  Many  of  these  articles  I  could  not  have  done 
without  her  aid,  which  was  rendered  with  a  ready  tact 
and  sympathetic  zeal  beyond  her  twenty  years,  though 
they  were  to  be  expected  from  her  lineage.  Whenever 
the  reader  comes  upon  a  passage  that  betrays  a  finer 
insight  and  a  happier  touch  than  ordinarily  appears  in 
the  work,  he  will  know  to  whom  to  attribute  it. 


The  chapters  on  Queen  Victoria  and  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning,  subsequently  added,  are  from  the  pen  of  Prof. 
John  P.  Lamberton,  of  Philadelphia. 


TABLE  OF  CONTEXTS. 


SALLY  BUSH— ABRAHAM   LINCOLN'S   GOOD   STEP- 
MOTHER. 

Thomas  Lincoln's  farm — Primeval  Indiana — Beauty  of  the 
land — The  Lincoln  log  cabin — The  want  of  furniture — The 
children  neglected — How  they  were  subsisted — Death  of 
Abraham's  mother — Thomas  Lincoln  courts  a  new  wife — Her 
arrival  in  Indiana — Reforms  the  household — Takes  care  of 
the  children — Makes  a  man  of  Abe — His  gratitude  to  her — 
He  visits  her  after  his  election  to  the  Presidency — Her  opinion 
of  him — Her  grave.       ........     17 

II. 

THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

The  Rev.  Patrick  Bronte — The  family  at  the  parsonage — The 
father's  violent  temper — The  six  little  children — Death  of 
their  mother — Aunt  Branwell  takes  charge  of  the  family — 
The  deadly  boarding-school — Charlotte's  friend,  Miss  Ellen 
Nussey — Emily  a  teacher — Charlotte  and  Emily  at  Brussels — 
Emily's  homesick  poem — Branwell  Bronte — The  bed  on  fire 
— The  book  of  poems — Novels  of  the  three  sisters — "The 
Professor"  declined — "Jane  Eyre" — Its  great  success — 
"Agnes  Grey"  and  ""Wuthering  Heights"  —  Branwell's  ill- 
ness and  death — Death  of  Emily — "Shirley"  published — 
Charlotte  and  Miss  Martineau  —  ' '  Yillette  "  —  Charlotte's 
marriage  and  death 23 

(5) 


tj  CONTENTS. 

III. 

QUEEN  VICTORIA. 

Her  birth  and  education — Succeeds  to  the  throne — Married  to 
Prince  Albert — Abolition  of  the  corn  laws — Friendship  with 
France — Death  of  Prince  Albert — Changes  of  ministry — Em- 
press of  India — Training  of  her  children — Her  books.     .        .44 

IV. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

A  precocious  child — Her  first  writings — ' '  Prometheus  Bound  "— 
Between  death  and  life — Study  of  the  Greek  poets — Her  com- 
pliment to  Robert  Browning — Her  marriage — Residence  in 
Florence — Social  and  political  problems — The  noblest  female 
poet 64 

V. 

MRS.  STOWE  AND   UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN. 

The  early  writings  of  Mrs.  Stowe — The  Semicolon  Club — Publi- 
cation of  the  Mayflower — Arrival  of  a  check  from  Dr. 
Bailey — Mrs.  Stowe's  early  experiences  of  slavery — Uncle 
Tom  begun — Writing  under  difficulties — Modest  expectations 
of  the  authoress — Wonderful  success  of  the  work — The 
authoress  not  enriched  by  it. 73 

VI. 

MISS  ALCOTT. 

Herself  the  original  of  Jo — Her  early  life — Her  father's  pecul- 
iar school — Whipping  the  teacher — Her  first  stories — Teaches 
school — Contributes  to  the  Saturday  Evening  Gazette — She 
describes  her  early  successes — Writes  a  play — On  the  free  list 
at  the  theatre — Becomes  an  author  by  profession — A  volunteer 
nurse  in  the  war — Her  hospital  sketches  published — Little 
Women — Translated  into  French — Her  unbounded  popularity 
— Her  Concord  home  described 78 

VII. 

GEORGE   ELIOT. 

Warwickshire — Birthplace  and  parentage — Character  of  her 
father — His  traits  reproduced  in  Caleb  Garth  and  Adam  Bede 


CONTENTS.  7 

— Her  education — Character  of  her  mother — Housekeeper  for 
her  father — The  little  wench — Meets  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
— His  opinion  of  her — Translates  Strauss's  Life  of  Jesus — 
Removal  to  London — Contributes  to  the  Westminster  Review — 
Scenes  of  Clerical  Life — Opinion  of  Thackeray  and  Dickens 
— Adam  Bede — Marriage  to  Mr.  Lewes — Mill  on  the  Floss — 
Early  religious  experiences  of  the  author — Correspondence 
with  Professor  Kaufmann — Her  receptions  described  by  an 
American  lady — Her  dress  and  appearance — Death  of  her 
husband — She  marries  J.  TV.  Cross — Her  death.    .         .         .91 

VIII. 

PRINCESS  LOUISE. 

Troubles  in  the  palace — The  political  storm  of  1848 — Birth  of 
the  Princess — Her  education — Her  artistic  temperament — 
Marries  the  Marquis  of  Lome — His  family  and  lineage — The 
Princess  described  by  Lord  Dufferin — The  uses  of  royalty.  115 

IX. 
FANNY  MENDELSSOHN. 

Her  family — Educated  with  her  brother  Felix — Her  talent  for 
music — Attachment  to  her  brother — Beloved  by  Wilhelm 
Hensel — Her  early  home — Garden  parties — A  German's  observ- 
ations upon  London  life — Marriage  of  Fanny  Mendelssohn 
— Her  son  Sebastian — Her  musical  matinees — Success  of  her 
compositions — Felix  at  the  Court  of  Queen  Victoria — The 
Queen  sings  one  of  Fanny's  songs — Her  journey  to  Italy — 
Her  death 124 

X. 

ANGELICA  KAUFMANN. 

Her  career  the  subject  of  a  novel  by  Miss  Thackeray — Her  edu- 
cation in  art — Becomes  a  fashionable  artist  at  fifteen — Her 
musical  talents — Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  proposes  to  her — She 
refuses  him — Count  Horn's  arrival  in  London — She  marries 
him — Her  husband  an  impostor — The  marriage  annulled — 
Her  second  marriage — Her  later  pictures — Death  of  her  hus- 
band— Her  death  and  funeral 143 


8  CONTENTS. 

XI. 

BARONESS  BURDETT-COUTTS. 

Harriet  Mellon  upon  the  London  stage — Thomas  Coutts  one  of 
her  admirers — His  prevfbus  career — He  marries  Miss  Mellon 
at  eighty-four — He  leaves  her  his  fortune — Her  marriage  to 
the  Duke  of  St.  Albans — Leaves  her  fortune  to  a  grandchild 
of  Thomas  Coutts — Rs  amount — Character  of  her  father — 
Her  firmness  and  decision — List  of  her  benefactions — Her 
hospitality — Banquet  to  two  thousand  Belgians — Her  mar- 
riage  151 

XII. 

GIRLHOOD   OF   QUEEN  ELIZABETH. 

Her  ill-provided  childhood — Her  governess — Mourns  the  death 
of  her  father — Her  brother,  Edward  VI — Roger  Ascham  her 
tutor — The  apostle  of  gentle  methods — His  work  upon  teach, 
ing — Lady  Jane  Grey  as  a  child — Queen  Elizabeth's  learning 
— Her  household — Customs  of  the  age — Furniture  and  uten- 
sils— Accession  to  the  throne 161 

XIII. 

THE  WIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Jeannie  Welsh  as  a  school  girl — Her  vivacity  and  generosity — 
Anecdotes  of  her  childhood — She  studies  Virgil — Death  of  her 
father — Loved  by  Edward  Irving — Introduced  to  Carlyle — 
His  tribute  of  verse  to  her — Her  marriage — Happiness  of  her 
early  married  life — Residence  at  Craigenputtock — Her  loaf  of 
bread — Her  health  declines — One  of  her  poems — Removal  to 
London — Trials  of  housekeeping — Carlyle's  intractable  tem- 
per— Darwin,  Dickens,  and  Tennyson — The  accident — Her 
sympathy  with  her  husband's  triumph — Sudden  death — Her 
epitaph .173 

XIV. 

THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD. 

Major  Andre's  early  life — In  love  with  Honora — Major  Andre  in 
Philadelphia — His  friendship  with  Peggy  Shippen — The 
Mischianza — Her  marriage  to  General  Arnold — His  trial  by 


CONTENTS.  9 

court-martial — Correspondence  with  the  enemy — She  receives 
a  letter  from  Andre — xlrnold  at  West  Point — Andre  starts 
upon  his  mission — His  dinner  song — Failure  of  the  plot — 
Mrs.  Arnold  feigns  ignorance — Probability  of  her  guilt — 
Aaron  Burr's  testimony — Joins  her  husband  in  England — She 
returns  to  her  country — Andre's  monument  in  Westminster 
Abbey 194 

XV. 

ADELAIDE  PROCTER. 

Her  precocious  childhood — Sends  contributions  to  Charles 
Dickens — Dickens  discovers  the  author — His  delightful  let- 
ter to  her — Her  subsequent  works — Her  charitable  labors — 
Dies  of  overwork — The  Lost  Chord.      .....  213 

XVI. 

LADY  BLOOMFIELD. 

The  duties  and  compensation  of  a  maid  of  honor — Routine  of 
the  palace — The  prudent  advice  of  Lady  Ravensworth — 
Evenings  at  court — Comic  anecdotes — Marriage  of  Lady 
Bloomfield — The  Sovereigns  of  Europe.         ....  219 

XVII. 

THE  MOTHER  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

General  Hugo — His  couitship  in  La  Vendee — Madame  Hugo's 
person  and  character — The  wedding — The  compact  with 
Pierre  Foucher — Birth  of  the  children — Their  life  in  Italy 
— Madame  Hugo  and  her  sons  in  Paris — Their  garden  and 
tutor — The  journey  to  Spain — Residence  at  Madrid — A 
Spanish  school — Restoration  of  the  Bourbons — Victor  wins 
honors  at  the  academy — An  evening  at  the  Fouchers' — Death 
of  Madame  Hugo — Marriage  of  the  poet.       .         .  .  225 

XVIII. 

LAURA  BRIDGMAN. 

Laura's  native  place — Loses  her  facidties  through  scarlet  fever 
— Instructed  by  her  mother — Her  removal  to  the  Boston 
Blind  Asylum — Educated  bv  Doctor  S.  G.  Howe — His  mcth 


10  CONTENTS. 

ods  of  teaching  her  described — Visited  by  Charles  Dickens — 
Her  character — Incident  of  the  handkerchief — Joins  the 
Baptist  church — She  relates  her  baptism — Her  present  con- 
dition— One  of  her  poems 243 

XIX. 

THE   WIFE   OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON  IN   HER  WORK- 
ROOM AT  MOUNT  VERNON. 

The  workroom  described — Making  garments  for  the  slaves — 
Mrs.  Washington  always  knitting — Her  training  of  servants 
— Her  husband's  early  condition — Her  wealth — The  courtship 
and  marriage.         .  256 

XX. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL  AND  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

The  master  of  Europe  afraid  of  a  woman — His  reasons — Char- 
acter of  the  man  as  shown  in  his  bulletins — Reasons  for  her 
detestation  of  him — His  treatment  of  Prussia — His  insolence 
to  the  conquered — He  banishes  Madame  de  Stael — Forbids 
the  publication  of  her  Germany — Some  offensive  passages — 
Her  second  marriage.     ........  262 

XXI. 

THE  WLFE  OF  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 

A  forced  marriage — An  incongruous  couple — Her  appearance 
and  character — Abandoned  by  the  king — His  correspondence 
with  her — The  king's  liberality  to  her — Her  religious  tracts.  280 

XXII. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  EUGENIE. 

Her  parentage — Her  childhood  in  Madrid — Known  there  by 
Washington  Irving — Her  extraordinary  beauty  as  a  young 
lady — Marriage  to  Louis  Napoleon — Gift  from  the  city  of  Paris 
— Her  expensive  dresses — The  clothes  mania  spreads  through 
the  world — Twenty  thousand  dollars  a  month  for  pin-money 
— Visit  to  Queen  Victoria — Opens  the  Suez  Canal — The 
Defeat  at  Sedan — Terror  in  the  palace — Prepares  for  flight — 


CONTENTS.  11 

The  people  advance  upon  the  Tuileries — She  leaves  Paris — 
Stormy  passage  across  the  channel — Arrival  in  England — 
The  Queen  assigns  her  a  residence — Death  of  her  son  in 
Africa 288 

XXIII. 

CAROLINE  HERSCHEL. 

Her  childhood  in  Germany — Her  brother  William  settles  in 
England — She  joins  him  at  Bath — He  makes  her  a  telescope 
— Her  discovery  of  comets — Madame  D'Arblay's  recollections 
of  her — She  assists  her  brother — Old  age  in  Hanover — Her 
last  birthday 302 

XXIV. 

CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN. 

Born  a  tomboy — Her  early  life  in  Boston — A  great  mimic — Her 
first  play — Coriolanus  and  Macready — Birtli  of  her  talent — 
Her  father's  bankruptcy — She  sings  in  opera — Failure  of  her 
voice — Plays  Lady  Macbeth — Her  arduous  toils — Member  of 
the  Park  Company — Her  acting  of  Goneril — She  appears  in 
London — A  mutton  chop  a  day — Dazzling  success — Return 
home — During  the  war — Her  jiatriotisrn  and  generosity — Her 
death 311 

XXV. 

MARIA  MITCHELL. 

The  Mitchells  in  Nantucket — Maria's  education — In  the  Nan- 
tucket library — Her  first  telescope — She  discovers  a  comet — 
Tour  of  Europe — Professor  at  Vassar — Her  dome  parties — Her 
liberal  opinions.     .........  322 

XXVI. 

MRS.  TROLLOPE. 

Cincinnati  in  1827 — The  Trollope  family  there — Her  impres- 
sions of  slavery — An  evening  party  in  Cincinnati — Her  dis- 
like of  America — The  fourth  of  July — Her  impressions  of 
New  York — Her  remarks  upon  Church  going — Anthony 
Trollope — His  method  of  working — Mrs.  Trollope's  last  years.  332 


12  CONTENTS. 

XXVII. 

ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 

Born  at  Stratford-on-Avon — Removal  to  Boston — Her  first 
appearance  on  the  stage — A  child  actress — Anecdote  of 
Warren— She  sings  before  Jenny  Lind — Studies  in  Italy — 
Her  debut — Her  career  in  opera — Her  death  and  burial.         .  347 

XXVIII. 

TWO  QUEENS.     THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF 
ENGLAND. 

The  Countess  of  Bentinct's  letter-chest — Why  James  the  Second 
turned  Catholic — The  Princess  Mary  argues  with  him — Wil- 
liam of  Orange  sails  for  England — His  parting  with  Mary — 
Her  life  during  his  absence — Crowned  Queen  of  England — 
Queen  Anne's  sorrowful  life — Death  of  Queen  Mary.     .         .  354 

XXIX. 

AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 
Her  training  for  the  stage — Alfred  de  Musset — He  reports  the 
supper — The  brass  platters — She  describes  her  housekeeping 
— Tastes  of  absinthe — She  makes  punch — Cooks  the  beef- 
steak— Her  love  of  Racine — Resolves  to  play  Phedre — Her 
brutal  father 362 

XXX. 

JOSEPHINE  AND  BONAPARTE. 

Their  coronation  impending — Opposition  of  the  Bonaparte  fam- 
ily— Scene  at  court — Josephine  jealous — Noble  conduct  of 
her  son,  Eugene — The  coronation  rehearsed.  .         .         .   372 

XXXI. 

LADY  MORGAN. 

Her  parents  and  childhood — Her  father's  romantic  marriage — 
Early  writings — Her  father's  bankruptcy — Goes  as  governess 
— Anecdote — Interview  with  a  publisher — Her  first  novel — 
The  Wild  Irish  Girl — Her  marriage — Residence  in  Paris — 
Visit  to  Lafayette — Her  last  years. 377 


CONTENTS.  13 

xxxn. 

MARIA  THERESA. 

Her  father  the  Emperor — Frederick  of  Prussia  seizes  he\  Pro* 
ince — Yields  Silesia  to  the  conqueror — Interval  of  peace — 
The  seven  years'  war — Her  complaisance  to  Pompadour — 
Frederick's  invasion  of  Saxony — She  abolishes  torture — 
Frederick's  tribute  to  her 399 

XXXIIT. 

LADY  FRANKLIN. 

Sir  John  Franklin's  first  wife — He  marries  Jane  Griffin — Her 
life  in  Van  Diemen's  land — His  last  Arctic  expedition — Not 
heard  from — She  assists  in  the  search — Her  address  to  the 
President  of  the  United  States — The  liberality  of  Henry 
Grinnell — Lieutenant  de  Haven — The  "Prince  Albert" — Sir 
Edward  Belcher's  attempt — Discovery  of  relics  by  Dr.  Rae — 
Lady  Franklin's  appeal  to  Lore".  Palmerston — Captain  M'Clin- 
tock's  expedition — Her  letter  to  him — The  final  success.         .  406 

XXXIV. 

MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 

Her  early  life — Her  extreme  piety — Death  of  her  father — Her 
wonderful  beauty — Her  marriage —  Death  of  her  husband — 
— The  young  widow  carried  off — Devotes  her  life  to  charity.    417 

XXXV. 

PEG   O'NEAL. 

The  O'Neal  Tavern  in  Washington — General  Jackson  and  his 
wife  inmates — Peg's  childhood — She  marries  Purser  Timber- 
lake — Death  of  her  husband — Marries  Senator  Eaton — The 
great  scandal — General  Jackson  defends  her — Martin  Van 
Buren  calls  upon  her — Efforts  of  the  British  and  Russian 
ministers — The  Russian  ball — The  English  dinner — General 
Jackson's  gratitude  to  Van  Buren — Mrs.  Eaton's  later  years.  .  423 

XXXVI. 

MRS.    L.    M.    MONMOUTH,    AND   HOW   SHE   LIVED   ON 
FORTY  DOLLARS  A   YEAR. 

From  affluence  to  poverty — Advice  of  her  neighbors — The  strug- 
gle for  independence — Her  clothing — A  cheap  dressing-gown 


14 


CONTENTS. 


— Tier  shoes — Her  food — Her  house  a  show — Balzac's  extrava- 
gance— Sir  Walter  Scott  ruined  by  his  house.         .         .         .    430 

XXXVII. 

TRIAL    OF    JEANNE  DARC,    COMMONLY    CALLED    JOAN 

OF  ARC. 

Rome  refuses  to  canonize  the  Maid — Manuscript  reports  of  her 
trial — Her  native  village — France  in  1428 — A  divided  allegi- 

'  ance — The  Maid's  real  name — Her  character  in  childhood — 
Her  youth — Effect  of  Catholic  habits — Her  commanding 
presence — Her  voices — A  revival  of  religion  in  the  French 
army — Politicians — Her  brilliant  career — Her  capture — 
Attempt  to  escape — In  chains  at  Rouen  Castle — The  court 
convened — The  prisoner  examined — She  relates  her  early  life 
Her  firmness — The  public  sermon — She  recants — Sentenced 
to  perpetual  imprisonment — Again  in  chains — Resumes  her 
man's  dress — She  revokes  her  recantation — Burned  at  the 
stake 440 

XXXVIII. 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 

Her  philanthropic  severity — Anecdote  of  Sydney  Smith — Her 
sorrowful  childhood — Her  education — Begins  to  write — Dis- 
covery of  her  secret — In  the  United  States — Attends  a  meet- 
ing of  abolitionists — Her  speech — Odium  resulting — Her 
religious  opinions — Florence  Nightingale  upon  her  death.      .   481 

XXXIX. 

THE  WIFE   OF  LAFAYETTE. 

Mysterious  power  of  rank — Prince  of  Wales  in  New  York- 
Lafayette  among  the  Six  Nations — Revisits  them  in  1784 — 
The  treaty  of  Fort  Schuyler — Anecdote  of  Red  Jacket — Ori- 
gin of  Lafayette's  republicanism — Stationed  at  Metz — Dines 
with  the  Duke  of  Gloucester — The  news  from  America — 
Determines  to  join  the  insurgents — Ancestry  of  Madame  de 
Lafayette — Their  marriage — He  sets  sail — Their  correspond- 
ence— He  describes  his  wound — He  returns  to  France — Bril- 
liancy of  their  position  at  court — The  French  Revolution — 
Madame  escapes  the  guillotine — Intercedes  for  her  husband 
with  the  Emperor  of  Austria — Shares  his  imprisonment — Her 
premature  death — Her  descendants 194 


CONTENTS.  15 

XL. 

BETSY  PATTERSON,    OTHERWISE   MADAME   JEROME 
BONAPARTE    OF   BALTDIORE. 

Career  of  her  father — The  richest  man  in  the  United  States — 
Jerome  Bonaparte  in  Baltimore — Her  father  opposes  her  mar- 
riage— Consents  at  last — Napoleon  refuses  to  recognize  her — 
Her  return  to  Baltimore — She  despises  her  country — Letter 
to  Lady  Morgan — Betsy  reproved  by  her  father — His  will — 
Close  of  her  life 509 

XLI. 
SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

Their  rage  for  gambling — Anecdote  of  the  two  black  aces — The 
woman's  club  of  London — Their  sense  of  decency — Our  sum- 
mer hotels — Modern  chivalry — Anecdote  of  Lekain — Society 
in  the  colonies — A  Connecticut  village — The  tyranny  of 
fashion — Fashion  in  ancient  times — Lord  Palmerston's  big 
boots 518 

XLII. 

TORE   DUTT. 

Her  genius  discovered  by  Mr.  Gosse — ner  translations  from  the 
French — Toru  and  Aru  in  Calcutta — Toru's  description  of 
her  garden — Her  residence  in  Europe — Their  return  to 
India — Her  first  writings — Death  of  Aru — Publication  of  the 
Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields — Correspondence  with 
Mile.  Bader — Specimens  of  her  poetry — Her  novel — Our 
Casuarina  Tree 530 

xliii. 

GEORGE   BAND. 

Her  ancestors — Her  grandmother — Childhood  of  George  Sand 
— Her  peculiar  education — Convent  life — Her  religious  belief 
— An  accomplished  young  lady — Marries  Dudevant — An  ill- 
starred  union — She  removes  to  Paris — Her  first  writings — 
Success  of  Indiana — Other  works — Alfred  de  Musset — Her 
political  principles — Her  closing  years — Her  works.       .         .  546 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Josephine  (Steel),     . 

Sally  Bush, 

Saturday  Night  (Steel),    . 

Queen  Victoria,     . 

Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe, 

Miss  Louisa  M.  Alcott, 

Princess  Louise,     . 

Queen  Elizabeph  (Steel), 

Adelaide  Procter, 

The  Mother  of  Victor  Hugo  (Steel), 

Madame  de  Stael, 
Wipe  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
Charlotte  Cushman, 
Maria  Mitchell,    . 
Adelaide  Phillips, 
Maria  Theresa  (Steel), 
Lady  Franklin, 
Joan  of  Arc  (Steel), 
Harriet  Martineau, 
Betsey  Patterson, 
toru  dutt  and  slster, 
George  Sand, 
(10) 


Frontispiece. 


PAGR 

18 
23 
51 
72 
79 
114 
ICO 
212 
227 
2C3 
281 
310 
323 
346 
398 
406 
441 
482 
508 
531 
547 


SALLY   BUSH. 


I. 

SALLY  BUSH  — ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  GOOD   STEP- 
MOTHER. 

SIXTY-FIVE  years  ago,  on  a  grassy  hillock  in  the 
magnificent  primeval  forest  of  Southern  Indiana, 
a  few  miles  from  the  Ohio  River,  stood  the  small,  unhewn, 
half-finished  and  most  forlorn  log-cabin  of  Thomas  Lin- 
coln. The  father  of  the  president  was  an  idle,  shiftless, 
worthless  carpenter,  who  had  taken  up  land  in  the 
wilderness,  and  lived  by  half  cultivating  a  few  acres  and 
shooting  the  wild  turkeys,  the  deer,  and  other  game  with 
which  the  region  teemed.  The  occupants  of  the  cabin 
were  himself,  his  wife,  whose  maiden  name  was  Nancy 
Hanks,  and  two  children,  Nancy,  eleven  years  of  age,  and 
Abraham,  the  future  president,  nine. 

I  suppose  there  never  was  a  more  beautiful  country 
than  this  part  of  Indiana,  as  it  was  before  the  settlers 
disfigured  it.  Imagine  an  undulating  country  covered 
with  trees  of  the  largest  size,  oaks,  beeches,  maples,  wal- 
nuts, without  that  intertangled  mass  of  undergrowth 
which  we  find  in  the  primeval  forests  of  the  Eastern 
States. 

This  land  had  probably  been,  within  a  few  centuries,  a 
prairie.  The  forest  had  gained  upon  the  grass  ;  but,  here 
and  there,  there  was  a  small  portion  of  the  original  prai- 
rie left,  which,  besides  furnishing  good  pasture,  gave  to 
the  region  the  aspect  of  an  ancient,  heavily-wooded  park, 
the  result  of  labor,  wealth,  and  taste  expended  for  ages. 
Upon  some  cf  these  oases  of  emerald,  the   deer  found 

(19) 


20  BALLY  BUSH. 

salt  springs  to  which  they  resorted  in  great  numbers ;  on 
the  wider  expanses,  the  buffaloes  had  recently  fed ;  on 
others,  the  arriving  pioneer  had  fixed  his  camp  and  built 
his  cabin. 

The  knoll  on  which  Thomas  Lincoln  had  placed  his 
house  was  free  from  trees,  and  sloped  gently  away  on 
every  side.  The  spot  had  every  charm  and  every  advant- 
age except  one :  there  was  no  good  water  within  a  mile, 
and  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  these  children  to  bring  from  that 
distance  the  water  required  for  drinking. 

Carpenter  as  he  was,  Thomas  Lincoln  had  not  taken 
the  trouble  either  to  finish  or  to  furnish  his  house.  It 
had  no  floor,  no  door,  no  windows.  There  were  three  or 
four  three-legged  stools  in  the  house,  and  no  other  seats. 
The  table  was  a  broad  slab  supported  by  four  legs,  with 
the  flat  side  upward.  There  was  a  bedstead  made  of 
poles  stuck  in  the  cracks  of  the  logs  in  one  corner  of  the 
cabin,  the  other  ends  being  supported  by  forked  sticks 
sunk  in  the  earthen  floor.  On  these  poles  some  boards 
were  laid,  upon  which  was  thrown  a  covering  of  leaves, 
and  these  in  turn  were  covered  with  skins  and  old 
clothes.  For  cooking  utensils  the  family  possessed  a 
Dutch  oven  and  a  skillet.  There  was  a  loft  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  cabin ;  but  as  this  shiftless  pioneer  had  not 
made  either  stairs  or  ladder,  little  Abe  was  obliged  to 
climb  to  his  perch  at  night  by  pegs  driven  into  the 
logs. 

The  children  were  no  better  cared  for  than  the  house. 
They  were  ill-clad,  ill-fed,  untaught,  and  harshly  treated. 
The  father,  naturally  disposed  to  indolence,  found  it  so 
easy  to  subsist  in  that  rich  country  by  his  rifle,  with 
which  he  was  extremely  expert,  and  from  his  patch  of 
corn  and  potatoes,  which  his  wife  and  children  cultivated, 
that  he  gave  way  to  his  natural  disposition,  and  passed 
his  time,  when  he  was  not  hunting,  in  telling  stories  to 


SALLY   BUSH.  21 

his  neighbors.  He  was  the  great  story-teller  of  the  county, 
a  character  in  much  request  on  the  frontier  in  the  early 
days. 

Some  readers  have  doubtless  visited  the  richly  wooded 
parks  of  Germany,  France,  or  England,  where  the  game 
is  carefully  preserved,  where  droves  of  clean,  glistening 
black  pigs  and  great  herds  of  deer  are  seen,  and  where, 
as  you  walk  along,  there  is  heard  at  every  step  the  rustle 
of  a  startled  hare,  and  where  broods  of  partridges  are 
following  their  mother  in  search  of  food,  as  tame  as 
chickens.  Now,  it  was  as  easy  for  the  settler  to  subsist 
his  family  in  this  Indiana  forest,  as  it  would  be  for  one 
of  the  huntsmen  io  live  in  a  great  park,  if  he  could  shoot 
as  much  game  as  he  liked.  Thomas  Lincoln,  therefore, 
being  such  a  man  as  he  was,  destitute  of  ambition  either 
for  himself  or  his  children,  took  life  very  easily,  and  any 
one  acquainted  with  the  family  would  have  foretold  for 
Abraham  no  higher  destiny  than  that  of  a  squatter  on 
the  frontier,  or  a  flat-boat  hand  on  the  rivers. 

A  terrible  and  mysterious  epidemic  swept  over  that 
country,  called  the  milk  disease,  one  of  the  numerous 
maladies  caused  by  the  settlers'  total  disregard  of  sanitary 
conditions.  One  of  the  victims  was  Nancy  Lincoln,  the 
wife  of  Thomas  and  the  mother  of  Abraham.  The  hus- 
band, who  had  been  her  only  nurse  and  only  physician, 
was  now  her  undertaker  also.  He  sawed  and  hammered 
some  green  boards  into  a  long  box.  The  few  neighbors, 
about  twenty  in  all,  carried  and  followed  her  remains  to 
a  little  eminence  half  a  mile  away,  and  there  buried  her 
in  the  virgin  soil  of  the  wilderness.  There  was  no  cere- 
mony performed  at  her  funeral,  because  there  was  no  one 
competent  to  perform  it.  Some  months  after,  when  a 
roving  preacher  came  along,  Thomas  Lincoln  induced  him 
to  preach  a  funeral  sermon  for  his  wife,  and  thus  this 
omission  was  made  good. 


22  SALLY    BUSH. 

Thirteen  months  passed.  The  widower,  who  was  not 
disposed  to  be  both  father  and  mother  to  his  children, 
started  for  his  native  Kentucky  in  quest  of  a  wife,  and 
there  he  found  Sally  Bush,  who  had  once  rejected  his  suit, 
had  married  his  rival  Johnstone,  and  was  now  a  widow 
with  three  children.  He  called  upon  her,  and  proposed, 
without  beating  about  the  bush. 

"  Well,  Miss  Johnstone,"  said  Thomas,  "  I  have  no 
wife,  and  you  have  no  husband.  I  came  a  purpose  to 
marry  you.  I  knowed  you  from  a  gal,  and  you  knowed 
me  from  a  boy.  I  have  no  time  to  lose,  and  if  you  are 
willing,  let  it  be  done  straight  off." 

"  Tommy,"  was  her  reply,  "  I  know  you  well,  and  have 
no  objections  to  marrying  you  ;  but  I  cannot  do  it  straight 
off,  as  I  owe  some  debts  that  must  first  be  paid." 

The  ceremony,  however,  took  place  on  the  following 
morning,  the  debts  having  been  paid  in  the  meantime, 
and  very  speedily  the  married  pair  and  all  the  goods 
which  the  widow  had  possessed,  were  placed  upon  a 
wagon,  and  drawn  by  four  horses,  a  journey  of  some  days, 
to  Thomas  Lincoln's  cabin  in  Indiana.  These  goods  were 
of  considerable  value.  There  was  a  bureau  which  had 
cost  forty  dollars,  and  which  Thomas  considered  sinfully 
magnificent,  and  urged  her  to  sell  it.  But  she  was  no 
Lincoln  and  refused  to  do  this.  There  was  a  table,  a  set 
of  chairs,  a  large  clothes  chest,  some  cooking  utensils, 
knives  and  forks,  bedding,  and  other  articles  essential  to 
civilized  living. 

Abraham  Lincoln  never  forgot  the  wonder  and  delight 
with  which  he  beheld  the  arrival  and  unpacking  of  this 
wagon-load  of  unimagined  treasure.  Neither  he  nor  his 
sister  had  ever  heard  of  such  things.  The  new  mother, 
on  her  part,  was  wofully  disappointed  on  seeing  the 
wretched  cabin  in  which  she  was  to  pass  her  days ;  for  it 
seems  that  Thomas  Lincoln  had  drawn  upon  his  imagina- 


SALLY   BUSH.  25 

tion  in  describing  his  abode ;  and,  indeed,  the  rude  hovel 
was  a  great  advance  upon  the  half-inclosed  wigwam  in 
which  he  had  lived  during  the  first  year's  residence  in  the 
wilderness. 

But  Sally  Bush,  unlettered  as  she  was,  had  in  her  some 
of  the  best  qualities  of  a  civilized  being.  She  was  a  natu- 
ral enemy  of  chaos  and  all  disorder.  She  was  a  woman 
of  high  principle,  genuine  intelligence,  and  good  sense. 
She,  therefore,  accepted  the  dismal  lot  to  which  Thomas 
Lincoln  had  brought  her,  and  at  once  set  about  making 
the  best  of  it. 

She  made  her  idle  husband  put  a  floor  to  the  cabin  ; 
then  windows  and  doors,  welcome  appendages  in  that  cold 
month  of  December.  She  made  up  warm  beds  for  the 
children,  now  five  in  number  by  the  addition  of  her  three. 
The  little  Lincolns,  even  in  that  wintry  season,  were  half 
naked,  and  she  clothed  them  from  fabrics  saved  for  her 
own  wardrobe.  They  had  never  been  used  to  cleanliness; 
she  washed  them,  and  taught  them  how  to  wash  them- 
selves. They  had  been  treated  with  hardness  ;  she  opened 
her  heart  to  them,  treated  them  as  she  did  her  own  chil- 
dren, and  made  them  feel  that  they  had  a  mother.  More- 
over, she  had  a  talent,  not  merely  for  industry,  but  for 
making  the  most  of  everything.  She  was  a  good  mana- 
ger, a  good  economist,  very  neat  in  her  own  person, 
orderly  and  regular  in  her  housekeeping.  The  whole 
aspect  of  the  home,  within  and  without,  was  changed ; 
even  the  land  was  better  cultivated,  and  Thomas  Lincoln 
was  a  somewhat  less  dilatory  provider. 

Happily,  too,  she  took  a  particular  liking  to  Abe,  then 
nine  years  old,  utterly  ignorant,  wholly  unformed,  but 
good-humored  and  affectionate.  He  became  warmly  at- 
tached to  her,  and,  as  she  often  said,  never  once  disobeyed 
her,  or  gave  her  a  disrespectful  reply.  She  soon  had  him 
nicely  dressed  in  new  clothes  from  head  to  foot,  and  it 


26  SALLY   BUSH. 

appeared  to  make  a  new  boy  of  him.  Being  now  decently 
clad,  he  could  attend  school,  which  he  had  never  previ- 
ously done,  and  very  soon  he  showed  those  indications  of 
intelligence  which  led  to  his  entering  the  profession  of 
the  law.  Sometimes  the  boy  had  to  walk  four  miles  and  a 
half  to  school,  and  when  he  reached  it  the  instruction  given 
him  was  not  of  a  very  high  quality.  Every  winter,  how- 
ever, added  something  to  his  knowledge  and  widened  his 
view. 

His  gratitude  to  this  excellent  woman  was  pleasing  to 
witness.  He  used  to  speak  of  her  as  his  "  saintly  moth- 
er," of  his  "  angel  of  a  mother,"  of  "  the  woman  who  first 
made  him  feel  like  a  human  being,"  who  taught  him  that 
there  was  something  else  for  him  in  the  world  besides 
blows,  ridicule,  and  shame.  After  his  father's  death  he 
paid  the  mortgage  on  his  farm,  assisted  her  children,  and 
sent  her  money  as  long  as  he  lived. 

After  he  was  elected  to  the  presidency,  and  before  he 
started  for  Washington,  he  paid  her  a  visit.  She  was 
then  very  old  and  infirm,  and  he  marked  the  change  in 
her  appearance.  She  had  been  a  very  tall  woman,  straight 
as  an  Indian,  handsome,  sprightly,  talkative,  with  beauti- 
ful hair  that  curled  naturally ;  she  was  now  bent  and 
.worn  with  labor  and  sorrow,  and  he  bade  her  farewell 
with  a  presentiment  that  he  should  see  her  no  more.  She, 
too,  was  oppressed  with  a  vague  fear  of  the  future.  When 
Mr.  Herndon,  the  law  partner  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  visited  her 
after  the  assassination  of  the  president,  she  was  not  able 
to  speak  of  him  without  tears. 

"  Abe,"  said  she,  "  was  a  poor  boy,  and  I  can  say,  what 
scarcely  one  woman  can  say  in  a  thousand,  Abe  never 
gave  me  a  cross  word  or  look,  and  never  refused, 
in  fact  or  appearance,  to  do  anything  I  requested  him. 
His  mind  and  mine,  what  little  I  had,  seemed  to  run 
together.     I  had  a  son  John,  who  was  raised  with  Abe. 


SALLY  BUSH.  27 

Both  were  good  boys  ;  but,  I  must  say,  both  now  being 
dead,  that  Abe  was  the  best  boy  I  ever  saw.  I  did  not 
want  Abe  to  run  for  president ;  did  not  want  him  elected ; 
was  afraid  somehow  ;  and  when  he  came  down  to  see  me 
after  he  was  elected  president,  I  still  felt  that  something 
would  befall  Abe,  and  that  I  should  see  him  no  more.'' 

She  died  soon  after,  and  lies  buried  in  an  obscure  grave, 
while  the  son  whom  she  rescued  from  squalor,  ignorance, 
and  degradation,  has  a  monument  which  pierces  the  skies. 
The  much-maligned  sisterhood  of  step-mothers  might 
well  combine  to  place  a  memorial  over  her  tomb. 


II. 


THE  BRONTE  SISTERS. 


THE  story  of  the  Brontes  is  one  of  the  saddest  in  the 
annals  of  literature.  They  were  the  children  of  a 
father  who  was  both  cold  and  violent,  and  of  a  gentle, 
sickly  mother,  early  lost.  They  were  reared  amid  sur- 
roundings the  most  gloomy  and  unhealthful,  and  cursed 
as  they  grew  older  with  a  brother  who  brought  them 
shame  and  sorrow  in  return  for  the  love  they  lavished 
upon  him.  Their  very  genius  seemed  a  product  of  dis- 
ease, and  often  their  finest  pages  are  marred  by  a  bitter 
savor  of  its  origin.  Their  stories  deal  with  suffering, 
endurance,  or  rebellion  against  fate  ;  with  violence,  with 
crime  and  its  punishment.  In  treating  such  subjects, 
these  three  quiet,  patient  daughters  of  a  country  parson 
found  themselves  quite  at  home. 

Their  father  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, an  Irishman  by  birth,  who  had  had  the  good  sense 
to  change  his  original  name  of  Prunty  to  the  more  pleas- 
ing appellation  since  made  famous  by  his  daughters. 
His  father,  Hugh  Prunty,  was  a  peasant  proprietor  of 
Ahaderg,  county  Down,  the  owner  of  a  few  acres  of  potato 
land,  and  the  father  of  ten  children,  of  whom  the  hand- 
somest, strongest,  and  most  intelligent  was  Patrick,  after- 
ward the  Reverend  Patrick  Bronte.  At  the  age  of  six- 
teen he  left  his  father's  house  and  went  to  the  neighbor- 
ing village  of  Drumgooland,  where  he  taught  school  and 
spent  his  leisure  hours  in  study. 

He  worked  so  hard  to  perfect  himself  in  the  necessary 

(28) 


THE    BRONTE    SISTERS.  29 

branches  that  at  twenty-five  he  was  enabled  to  enter  Cam- 
bridge University,  upon  leaving  which,  four  years  later, 
he  was  ordained  to  a  curacy  in  Essex.  From  Essex  he 
went  to  Hartshead  in  Yorkshire,  where  he  married  Miss 
Maria  Branwell,  a  young  lady  of  Cornish  parentage. 
Three  years  later  he  removed  with  his  wife  and  two  little 
baby  girls,  Maria  and  Elizabeth,  to  Thornton  in  the  same 
county,  where  four  other  children  were  born,  one  every 
year.  Charlotte,  the  most  famous,  was  the  eldest ;  she 
was  born  in  1816.  A  son,  Patrick  Branwell,  came  next ; 
then  Emily  Jane ;  then  Anne.  In  1820,  the  year  after 
Anne's  birth,  the  family  moved  to  Haworth  Vicarage,  in 
the  village  of  Haworth,  near  Keighley,  in  Yorkshire.  A 
year  later  the  mother,  always  weak  and  ailing,  died,  leav- 
ing her  six  young  children  to  their  father's  care. 

Mr.  Bronte  apparently  intended  to  do  his  duty  to  his 
children  ;  but  he  was  a  hard,  vain,  dull  man,  fond  of  soli- 
tude, eccentric,  and  possessed  of  many  strange  notions  in 
regard  to  education.  He  never  cared  for  his  children's 
society,  desired  only  to  have  them  keep  quiet  and  learn 
their  lessons,  allowed  them  no  meat,  required  them  to 
dine  upon  potatoes,  and  ate  his  own  dinner  alone  in  his 
room.  Their  dress,  too,  had  to  be  of  the  simplest.  It 
was  not  forgotten  in  the  family  that  a  silk  dress  of  his 
wife's  which  displeased  him  he  cut  into  shreds ;  nor  that 
some  colored  shoes  given  the  children  by  a  cousin  he 
threw  into  the  fire. 

He  possessed  a  furious  temper,  which  he  usually  kept 
under  control ;  but  occasionally,  when  he  found  it  necessary 
to  give  some  vent  to  his  feelings,  he  would  fire  pistols  out 
of  the  back  door  in  rapid  succession.  Almost  his  only 
communication  with  the  children  was  at  breakfast  and 
supper ;  his  only  method  of  entertaining  them  was  to 
relate,  at  the  breakfast  table,  wild  and  horrible  Irish  tales 
of  massacre,  blood,  and  banshees.     Yet  the  children  loved 


30  THE   BRONTii   SISTERS. 

him,  and  rendered  him  an  obedience  and  devotion  which 
much  kinder  and  wiser  parents  can  not  always  obtain. 

Thus  the  six  little  Brontes,  motherless,  and  denied  the 
intimacy  and  companionship  of  their  father,  clung  to  each 
other  with  a  love  far  beyond  that  of  most  brothers  and 
sisters  of  their  age.  They  were  wonderfully  "  good,"  poor 
little  things,  the  boy  being  the  only  one  who  showed 
any  evidences  of  vigor. 

They  spent  much  of  their  time  wandering  silently  about 
the  old  house  and  the  bleak  moors  beyond  it,  hand  in 
hand,  Maria,  the  eldest,  a  pale,  small  creature  of  seven, 
assuming  the  charge  of  the  others,  and  trying  her  best 
to  be  a  mother  to  them.  Their  surroundings  were  som- 
bre and  dreary.  Haworth  Parsonage  stands  upon  a  hill 
which  slopes  sharply  down  to  the  village  in  one  direction, 
and  in  the  other,  after  a  slight  further  ascent,  merges 
into  an  apparently  interminable  expanse  of  moorland. 
The  church  and  school-house  stand  close  by,  while  above 
the  house,  and  surrounding  it  upon  three  sides,  lies  the 
graveyard,  crowded  with  upright  tombstones.  The  par- 
sonage itself  is  a  low  stone  building,  ancient,  draughty, 
and  picturesque,  with  heavy,  flagged  roof  made  to  resist 
the  winds  that  sweep  across  the  moor,  with  chilly  flagged 
floors,  old-fashioned  windows  with  small,  glittering  panes, 
and  a  few  hardy  flowers,  some  elder  and  lilac  bushes, 
growing  beneath  shelter  of  its  walls. 

The  sounds  with  which  the  children  were  most  familiar 
were  the  rushing  and  moaning  of  the  wind  around  the 
chimneys,  the  bell  of  the  church,  ringing  to  service  or 
tolling  for  funerals,  and,  whenever  the  house  was  still, 
the  constant  chip !  chip !  of  the  stone-mason  who  lived 
near  the  gate,  cutting  an  epitaph  upon  one  of  the  slates 
which  he  kept  piled  in  his  shed.  The  sights  they  loved 
were  the  firelight  and  the  broad  moor.  Games,  like  those 
of  ordinary  children,  they  never  played.     The  elder  chil- 


THE    BRONTE    SISTERS.  31 

dren  read  the  papers,  including  the  Parliamentary  debates, 
and  amused  themselves  by  discussing,  in  hushed  voices, 
the  rival  merits  of  Bonaparte  and  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton. They  had  no  story  books.  The  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton was  their  hero  of  romance,  whom  they  worshiped 
with  absolute  devotion.  One  thing  at  least  they  enjoyed, 
perfect  liberty,  and  they  were  happy  in  their  own  way. 

This  lasted  for  a  year ;  then  Miss  Branwell  arrived,  a 
kind  and  efficient,  if  somewhat  fastidious  little  maiden 
aunt,  who  undertook  to  reclaim  them  from  their  wildness 
and  instruct  them  in  civilized  accomplishments.  Sub- 
mission to  her  rule  was  not  easy  after  such  entire  free- 
dom ;  but  she  did  them  much  good,  and  they  soon  learned 
to  like  and  respect  her.  They  learned  lessons  which  they 
recited  to  their  father,  and  the  live  little  girls  were 
instructed  in  sewing,  cooking,  and  housework.  Their 
leisure  they  still  employed  in  long  rambles  on  the  moor, 
and  in  telling  each  other  wonderful  stories  of  heroism, 
adventure,  or  magic.  One  spring,  they  were  all  taken 
sick  with  a  complication  of  measles  and  whooping  cough, 
and  on  their  recovery,  Mr.  Bronte  thought  a  change  of 
air  desirable  for  the  elder  ones.  In  July,  1824,  he  sent 
Maria  and  Elizabeth  to  a  school  for  clergymen's  daughters 
at  Cowan's  Bridge  ;  in  September  they  were  joined  by 
Emily  and  Charlotte. 

To  the  readers  of  Charlotte  Bronte  it  would  be  super- 
fluous to  describe  this  school — the  "Lowood"  of  "Jane 
Eyre."  Its  miserable  diet,  unhealthy  situation,  long  les- 
sons, rigid  discipline,  low  type  of  religion,  and  continual 
sermons  upon  humility — nothing  is  there  forgotten, 
nor  is  anything  exaggerated.  Moreover,  the  descriptions 
of  both  teachers  and  pupils  are  most  of  them  portraits. 
Miss  Temple  and  Miss  Scatcherd  are  drawn  from  the  life; 
and  the  pathetic  figure  of  Helen  Burns  is  a  delineation 
of    Maria  Bronte,  whose  death  from  consumption    was 


32  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

directly  due  to  the  hardships  she  underwent  at  Cowan's 
Bridge.  A  single  incident  related  to  Mrs.  Gaskell  by  a 
fellow  pupil  of  the  Bronte  girls  of  the  way  in  which  this 
studious  and  sickly  child  was  treated,  shows  effectually 
that  Charlotte's  picture  of  Lowood  is  not  overdrawn,  and 
fully  justifies  the  anguish  and  burning  indignation  with 
which  she  always  recalled  her  sojourn  there. 

Maria  had  been  ill — so  ill  that  it  had  been  necessary  to 
apply  a  blister  to  her  side,  the  sore  from  which  was  not  yet 
healed.  On  hearing  the  rising  bell  one  morning,  while 
in  this  condition,  she  said  to  some  of  her  companions  in 
the  dormitory  that  she  did  not  feel  well  enough  to  get  up, 
and  wished  she  might  remain  in  bed.  They  advised  her 
to  do  so,  but  she  dared  not  for  fear  of  the  teacher  known 
to  us  as  Miss  Scatcherd,  who  disliked  her  and  seized 
every  opportunity  to  treat  her  harshly.  She  was  yet 
sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  shivering  with  cold  and 
slowly  drawing  on  her  stockings  over  her  thin  feet,  when 
this  woman  suddenly  entered  the  room  and,  without 
waiting  for  any  explanation,  seized  her  by  the  arm,  and 
with  a  single  movement  whirled  her  into  the  center  of 
the  floor,  abusing  her  at  the  same  time  for  her  untidy 
habits.  She  then  left  the  room,  and  Maria  made  no 
reference  to  the  occurrence,  except  to  beg  a  few  of  the 
more  indignant  girls  to  be  calm.  Slowly  and  painfully 
she  finished  dressing  and  went  down  to  breakfast,  only  to 
be  punished  because  she  was  late. 

This  poor  little  martyr  remained  at  Cowan's  Bridge 
until  she  was  so  ill  that  the  authorities  notified  her  father, 
who  came  and  took  her  home  with  him,  where  she  died 
within  a  few  days.  Her  sisters  remained  behind  ;  but 
Elizabeth  had  already  developed  consumptive  symptoms, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  she  too  was  sent  home  to  die. 
Charlotte  and  Emily  then  began  to  fail,  and  the  authori- 
ties, remembering  the  fate  of  the  elder  sisters,  sent  word 


THE    BRONTli    SISTERS.  33 

to  Mr.  Bronte  that  the  damp  situation  of  the  house  did  not 
agree  with  them,  and  they  had  better  be  removed.  They 
therefore  returned  to  Haworth  in  the  autumn  of  1825, 
when  Charlotte  was  a  little  over  nine  years  of  age. 

In  1831  Charlotte,  then  fifteen,  was  again  sent  to  school 
— this  time  to  a  Miss  Wooler  of  Roehead,  a  kind  lady 
and  an  excellent  teacher.  At  this  school  she  became  a 
favorite  with  the  other  girls,  although  they  laughed  at 
her  odd  ways,  told  her  how  ugly  she  was,  and  found  her 
unable  to  share  in  their  amusements.  These  serious 
defects  were  counterbalanced  by  her  scholarship,  which 
they  admired,  by  her  obliging  disposition,  and  by  her 
story-telling  gift,  which  she  would  exercise  for  their 
benefit  as  they  lay  in  bed  at  night,  with  such  success  as 
to  frighten  them  all  nearly  out  of  their  wits.  Two  of  her 
fellow  pupils  especially  attached  themselves  to  her,  and 
remained  her  life-long  friends.  One  of  them  thus 
described  her  to  Mrs.  Gaskell,  as  she  appeared  at  this 
time : 

"  She  looked  like  a  little  old  woman,  so  short-sighted 
that  she  always  appeared  to  be  seeking  something,  and 
moving  her  head  from  side  to  side  to  catch  a  sight  of  it. 
She  was  very  shy  and  nervous,  and  spoke  with  a  strong 
Irish  accent.  When  a  book  was  given  her,  she  dropped 
her  head  over  it  till  her  nose  nearly  touched  it,  and  when 
she  was  told  to  hold  up  her  head,  up  went  the  book  after 
it,  still  close  to  her  nose,  so  that  it  was  not  possible  to 
help  laughing." 

Her  other  friend,  Miss  Ellen  Nussey,  whose  sweet  and 
gentle  character  Charlotte  afterward  attempted  to  depict 
in  Caroline  Helstone,  Avas  drawn  toward  her  by  compassion 
on  the  first  day  of  her  arrival,  upon  seeing  her  standing 
alone  by  the  school-room  window  watching  the  other  girls 
at  play  in  the  snow  without,  and  crying  from  loneliness. 

Upon  returning  to  Haworth  Charlotte  at  once  set  to 
3 


34  THE   BRONTfi   SISTERS. 

work  to  teach  her  sisters  all  that  she  had  learned  at 
school,  giving  them  regular  instruction  from  nine  until 
half-past  twelve  every  day.  In  1835  she  returned  to  Miss 
Wooler's,  this  time  in  the  capacity  of  assistant  teacher, 
accompanied  by  Emily  as  a  pupil.  But  Emily  was  obliged 
^to  return  to  Haworth  at  the  end  of  three  months,  com- 
pletely overcome  by  homesickness — not  a  mere  senti- 
mental feeling,  but  a  longing,  stoutly  resisted,  yet  so 
powerful  as  to  darken  all  her  days,  break  down  her  health, 
and  threaten  her  with  rapid  decline  if  she  did  not  yield. 
Charlotte  remained  behind  with  Anne,  who  came  to  take 
Emily's  place,  but  the  work  was  too  hard  for  her,  and  she, 
too,  began  to  fail  and  pine,  and  to  be  tormented  besides 
by  nervous  fears,  gloomy  forbodings,  and  an  irritability 
which  she  could  scarcely  control. 

Emily,  meanwhile,  had  gone  as  a  teacher  to  Halifax, 
where  she  was  obliged  to  labor  from  six  in  the  morning 
until  eleven  at  night,  with  only  a  half-hour  of  exercise 
between.  But,  in  the  Christinas  holidays,  the  three 
sisters  again  met  at  their  home,  and  discussed  their  hopes 
and  prospects.  About  this  time  it  was  that  Charlotte 
first  conceived  the  idea  that  her  writings  might  have  a 
public  interest ;  might  open  to  her  a  road  of  escape  from 
the  slavery  to  which  she  was  condemned.  She  mustered 
up  all  her  courage,  and  sent  some  specimens  of  her 
poetry  to  Southey,  requesting  his  opinion  upon  their 
merits.  The  poet  returned  her  a  kind  but  discouraging 
letter,  to  which  she  replied  gratefully  and  humbly,  telling 
him  that  she  should  continue  to  write  for  her  own  pleasure 
and  improvement,  but  that  she  should  never  again  feel 
ambitious  to  see  her  name  in  print.  She  asked  no  reply 
to  this  second  letter,  but  Southey  wrote  to  her  again,  this 
time  most  cordially,  and  invited  her  to  come  and  see  him 
if  ever  she  were  near  his  home.  She  afterwards  sent 
some  of  her  poems  to  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth. 


THE   BRONTE   SISTERS.  35 

It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  in  detail  upon  the  various 
occupations  of  the  Bronte  girls  after  Charlotte  finally  left 
Roehead.  When  at  home  they  wrote,  read,  wandered  on 
the  moor,  and  pursued  their  household  avocations.  Emily 
remained  continuously  at  Haworth,  hut  Anne  and  Char- 
lotte obtained  situations  as  governesses.  Anne's  experi- 
ences in  this  capacity  may  be  divined  by  the  readers  of 
'•Agnes  Grey,"  her  first  novel ;  Charlotte's  are  indicated  in 
"  Shirley,"  in  that  passage  where  Mrs.  Pryor  describes  her 
early  life.  In  speaking  of  this  period  to  Mrs.  Gaskell, 
Charlotte  related  how,  in  one  family,  just  as  she  was 
beginning  to  gain  some  ascendancy  over  a  group  of  chil- 
dren who  had  been  perfect  little  savages  when  she  arrived, 
the  youngest,  and  to  her  the  dearest,  said  to  her  one  day 
at  table  in  a  sudden  burst  of  affection,  putting  his  chubby 
hand  in  hers : 

"  I  love  'on,  Miss  Bronte  ! " 

Instantly  the  mother  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  astonish- 
ment and  reproach : 

"  Love  the  governess,  my  dear  !  " 

It  is  a  relief  to  hear,  after  this  incident,  that  in  the  last 
family  where  she  occupied  this  situation,  her  treatment 
was  far  different.  As.  she  herself  said,  they  could  not 
make  enough  of  her,  and  they  remained  her  friends  as 
long  as  she  lived. 

But,  at  the  best,  going  out  as  governess  did  not  prove 
remunerative,  and  the  work  overtaxed  the  feeble  strength 
of  both  Anne  and  Charlotte.  It  was  a  slavery  from 
which  they  longed  to  escape,  and  in  concert  with  Emily, 
they  gradually  formed  the  plan  of  keeping  a  girls'  board- 
ing-school at  their  own  home.  To  this  end,  however,  they 
considered  a  better  knowledge  of  French  and  German 
necessary  ;  and,  at  length,  in  1842,  Charlotte  and  Emily 
went  to  Brussels  to  the  school  of  M.  and  Madame  Heger, 


36  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

in  the  Rue  d'Isabellc — a  happy  circumstance,  which  gave 
to  Charlotte  the  materials  for  what  is  perhaps  her  master- 
piece, the  novel  of  "  Villette." 

Charlotte  enjoyed  Brussels,  in  her  quiet  way.  She  had 
Emily  for  company,  she  entered  eagerly  into  her  lessons, 
she  liked  the  oddities  and  imperiousness  of  her  brilliant 
teacher,  M.  He'ger — the  original  of  Paul  Emanuel.  Her 
near-sighted  grey  eyes  lost  none  of  the  characteristics  of 
the  blooming  Belgian  school  girls  by  whom  she  was 
surrounded,  with  their  smooth  hair,  their  romping  ways, 
their  devotion  to  dress,  and  their  excellent  appetites. 

But  Emily  pined  for  Haworth  and  her  beloved  moor. 
Brussels  was  nothing  to  her ;  M.  He'ger  only  exasperated 
her,  although  she  performed  her  tasks  faithfully — finding, 
indeed,  her  only  refuge  from  homesickness  in  labor.  For 
his  part,  he  recognized  at  once  the  exceptional  talents  of 
both  his  reserved,  oddly  dressed  -English  pupils,  but  he 
considered  Emily  as  the  greater  genius  of  the  two ;  and 
indeed,  her  exercises  were  far  superior  to  Charlotte's. 
His  praise  could  not  touch  her,  however ;  she  cared  only 
to  do  the  work  that  must  be  done,  and  get  home  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Sitting  at  twilight  in  the  deserted  school- 
room her  thoughts  turned  to  her  home  with  the  same 
passionate  longing  that  had  compelled  her  return  from 
Roehead,  and  she  tried  one  evening  to  give  her  feeling 
expression  in  verse : 

"A  little  while,  a  little  while, 
The  weary  task  is  put  away, 
And  I  can  sing  and  I  can  smile 
Alike,  while  I  have  holiday. 

"  Where  wilt  thou  go,  my  harassed  heart — 

What  thought,  what  scene  invites  thee  now? 
What  spot,  or  near  or  far  apart, 
Has  rest  for  thee,  my  weary  brow? 


THE   BRONTE   SISTERS.  37 

"  There  is  a  spot  mid  barren  hills 

Where  "winter  howls  and  driving  rain ; 
But,  if  the  dreary  tempest  chills, 
There  is  a  light  that  warms  again. 

"The  house  is  old,  the  trees  are  bare, 

Moonless  above  bends  twilight's  dome ; 
But  what  on  earth  is  half  so  dear — 
So  longed  for — as  the  hearth  of  home? 

"The  mute  bird  sitting  on  the  stone, 

The  dark  moss  dripping  from  the  wall, 
The  thorn-tree  gaunt,  the  walks  o'ergrown, 
I  love  them ;  how  I  love  them  all ! 

"And,  as  I  mused,  the  naked  room, 
The  alien  firelight  died  away, 
And  from  the  midst  of  cheerless  gloom 
I  passed  to  bright,  unclouded  day. 

"A  little  and  a  lone  green  lane 

That  opened  on  a  common  wide, 
A  distant,  dreary,  dim,  blue  chain 
Of  mountains  circling  every  side; 

"A  heaven  so  dear,  an  earth  so  calm, 
So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  hushed  an  air, 
And  deepening  still  the  dream-like  charm 
Wild  moor-sheep  feeding  everywhere. 

"  That  was  the  scene,  I  knew  it  well; 
I  knew  the  turfy  pathway's  sweep, 
That,  winding  o'er  each  billowy  swell, 

Marked  out  the  tracks  of  wandering  sheep." 

Dark  days  followed  the  return  of  the  sisters  from 
Brussels.  Their  long-cherished  scheme  of  the  girls' 
boarding-school  was  destined  never  to  be  realized. 
Haworth  was  too  remote  in  situation  and  too  forbidding 
in  aspect  to  attract  scholars,  and,  in  spite  of  the  neatly 
printed  circulars  which  they  issued,  and  of  the  earnest 


38  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

efforts  of  their  few  friends,  they  did  not  succeed  in 
securing  a  single  pupil.  This  was  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment, but  it  was  as  nothing  compared  with  a  household 
sorrow  that  had  been  slowly  coming  upon  them  for  a  long 
time. 

Their  brother,  Branwell  Bronte,  who  should  have  been 
the  comfort  and  support  of  the  family,  had  become  its 
burthen  and  disgrace.  Always  brilliant  in  conversation, 
pleasure-loving,  and  slight  of  character,  he  had  easily 
fallen  into  dissipated  ways,  and  had  gone  from  bad  to 
worse.  After  filling  several  situations,  which  he  lost  one 
after  another  through  his  incompetence  and  bad  habits, 
he  had  been  engaged  as  a  tutor  in  the  family  where  Anne 
held  the  position  of  governess.  The  master  of  this  house 
was  an  invalid  ;  his  wife  it  is  not  necessary  to  characterize. 
Branwell  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  she  reciprocated  his 
passion.  For  some  time  poor  Anne  suspected  this  misera- 
ble intrigue,  and  her  health,  always  delicate,  declined 
under  such  a  weight  of  anxiety  and  sorrow.  But,  at 
length,  everything  was  discovered,  and  Branwell  was 
dismissed  in  disgrace.  He  returned  to  his  home  a  des- 
perate man.  His  dissipation,  formerly  secret,  now 
became  open  and  reckless  ;  he  drank  and  took  opium  ;  he 
was  violent  and  childish  by  turns,  raving  of  his  lost 
mistress  one  moment  and  threatening  suicide  the  next. 

The  shame  and  horror  of  this  conduct  fell  Avith  peculiar 
force  upon  such  honorable,  laborious,  even  austere  women 
as  these,  accustomed  to  spare  themselves  nothing  in  the 
performance  of  their  duty.  Charlotte's  affection  did  not 
survive  the  shock  of  the  disclosure  of  her  brother's  treach- 
ery. It  was  afterward  painful  for  her  to  be  in  the  room 
with  him,  and  "  forced  work  "  (her  own  words)  for  her 
to  speak  to  him.  Anne,  gentler  and  weaker  than  her 
sister,  still  loved,  but  feared  him.  The  stronger  Emily 
pitied  him,  and  did  not  shrink  from  giving  him  her  assist 


THE   BROXTii   SISTERS.  39 

ance  and  companionship  even  in  his  worst  moments,  when 
he  was  scarcely  less  tnan  a  madman. 

Readers  of  "Jane  Eyre"  will  remember  the  incident 
of  Rochester's  insane  wife  setting  his  bed  on  fire,  and  of 
his  rescue  by  Jane.  It  has  been  considered  extravagant, 
but  Charlotte  found  the  suggestion  for  it  in  her  own 
home.  One  night,  when  the  three  sisters  were  passing 
along  the  upper  entry  to  their  rooms,  they  noticed  a 
bright  light  coming  from  Branwell's  chamber.  Imme- 
diately Emily,  after  warning  the  others  with  a  finger  on 
her  lip  not  to  wake  Mr.  Bronte,  who  was  singularly  afraid 
of  fire,  darted  down  the  stairs  and  soon  reappeared  with 
a  pail  of  water  in  each  hand.  She  entered  the  burning 
room;  the  bright  flare  subsided,  and  presently  her  terrified 
sisters  saw  her  come  out,  paie,  panting,  and  scorched,  half- 
dragging,  half-carrying  in  her  arms  her  helpless  brother, 
who  was  stupefied  with  drink. 

Their  great  venture  of  the  school  having  failed,  Char- 
lotte's thoughts  once  more  turned  to  literature.  She 
found  one  day  some  poems  of  Emily's  which  seemed  to 
her  meritorious ;  Anne,  finding  Emily's  verses  approved, 
produced  some  of  hers;  Charlotte  added  her  own,  and 
the  three  sisters  formed  the  bold  resolution  to  have  the 
little  collection  printed,  published,  and  if  possible  sold. 
It  was  a  long  and  difficult  task  to  find  a  publisher ;  but 
at  last  they  succeeded,  and  in  184G  the  slender  little 
volume  was  issued  under  the  title  of  "  Poems,  by  Currer, 
Ellis,  and  Acton  Bell;"  Currer  Bell  being  Charlotte ;  Ellis, 
Emily;  and  Acton,  Anne.  The  volume  attracted  little 
attention,  but  the  few  reviewers  who  noticed  it  awarded 
higher  rank  to  the  work  of  Ellis  Bell  than  to  that  of  her 
brothers,  as  the  discerning  critics  called  them.  The  book 
was,  however,  an  evident  failure ;  it  brought  the  sisters 
little  reputation  and  less  money. 

But  they  were  used  to  disappointments,  and  they  met 


40  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

this  new  one  bravely.  They  next  tried  romance.  Anne 
wrote  "Agnes  Grey,"  Charlotte  "The  Professor,"  and 
Emily  "  Wuthering  Heights."  When  these  tales  were 
completed,  all  three  were  sent  in  one  parcel  from  pub- 
lisher to  publisher,  only  to  return  as  often  to  the  hands 
of  their  unhappy  authors.  Then  it  occurred  to  them 
to  try  their  fate  separately,  and  after  further  waiting 
and  discouragement,  "  Wuthering  Heights  "  and  "  Agnes 
Grey  "  found  a  firm  willing  to  take  the  risk  of  printing 
them.     "  The  Professor  "  was  not  so  fortunate. 

Meanwhile,  another  sorrow  had  come  into  the  melan- 
choly parsonage :  Mr.  Bronte  had  begun  to  lose  his  eye- 
sight. He  could  still  grope  his  way  about,  but  he  could 
not  read  nor  use  his  eyes  for  many  of  the  ordinary 
purposes  of  life,  and  it  was  evident  that  unless  the 
cataract  could  be  removed  his  sight  would  soon  be 
entirely  destroyed.  So,  in  August  of  184G,  Charlotte 
accompanied  him  to  Manchester  for  the  purpose  of  hav- 
ing an  operation  performed.  Upon  the  very  day  on 
which  the  operation  was  to  take  place,  Charlotte,  lonely, 
anxious,  and  miserable,  had  "  The  Professor  "  once  more 
returned  to  her,  "  declined,"  by  some  busy  publisher  with- 
out even  the  usual  thanks.  She  was  in  the  room  with 
her  father  while  the  cataract  was  removed,  sitting  breath- 
less and  quiet  in  a  corner,  and  she  nursed  him  through 
the  illness  of  the  following  days,  when  lie  was  confined 
to  his  bed  in  a  darkened  room,  hoping,  but  not  yet  cer- 
tain, that  his  sight  was  restored  to  him. 

And  it  was  at  this  time,  in  the  midst  of  sorrow,  suffer- 
ing, anxiety,  and  disappointment,  alone  with  her  invalid 
father  in  a  great,  black,  strange  city — it  was  at  this 
time,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  operation,  that 
Charlotte  Bronte,  her  brave  spirit  still  undaunted,  sent 
forth  her  old  story  for  another  trial,  and,  sitting  down  in 
her  bare,  ugly  little  boarding-house  room,  wrote  swiftly, 


THE    BRONTE   SISTERS.  41 

and  with  few  pauses,  the  opening  chapter  of  "Jane 
Eyre." 

At  last,  after  her  return  to  Haworth,  came  a  piece  of 
good  fortune.  Messrs.  Smith  &  Elder,  to  whom  she  had 
sent  "  The  Professor "  (omitting,  in  her  innocence,  even 
to  obliterate  upon  the  parcel  the  names  of  the  publishing 
houses  to  whom  it  had  previously  been  addressed), 
sent  her  a  letter  in  which,  to  be  sure,  the  unlucky  tale 
was  once,  more  rejected,  but  in  which,  as  she  afterwards 
declared,  its  merits  and  demerits  were  discussed  "  so 
courteously,  so  considerately,  in  a  spirit  so  rational,  with 
a  discrimination  so  enlightened,  that  this  very  refusal 
cheered  the  author  better  than  a  vulgarly -worded  accept- 
ance would  have  done."  In  addition,  they  stated  that  a 
work  in  three  volumes  from  her  pen  would  receive  care- 
ful attention.     She  sent  them  "Jane  Eyre." 

This  famous  novel,  begun  in  such  gloomy  circum- 
stances, was  written  amid  difficulties  of  every  kind.  For 
long  periods,  sometimes  for  weeks,  even  months  at  a 
time,  Charlotte  would  find  herself  unable  to  write;  then, 
suddenly,  the  inspiration  would  seize  her  and  she  would 
write  for  as  long  a  time  as  her  duties  permitted,  holding 
her  paper  close  to  her  eyes  upon  a  bit  of  board.  She 
wrote  in  a  cramped,  minute  hand,  in  pencil,  upon  loose 
scraps  of  paper,  sometimes  sitting  before  the  fire  at  twi- 
light, often  in  her  own  room  at  night,  when  her  restless 
imagination  forbade  her  to  sleep.  In  the  day-time  house- 
hold affairs  frequently  interrupted  her  at  the  most  critical 
moment.  Tabby,  the  servant,  who  had  been  in  the  family 
for  many  years,  was  so  old  that  she  could  not  see  to 
remove  the  "eyes"  from  the  potatoes  which  she  peeled 
for  dinner  ;  yet  Charlotte  was  unwilling  to  hurt  her  feel- 
ings by  asking  the  younger  servant  maid  to  look  them 
over.  Often,  therefore,  while  under  the  full  force  of 
inspiration,  she  would  lay  aside  her  manuscript  and  glid- 


42  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

ing  quietly  into  the  kitchen,  abstract  the  bowl  of  potatoes 
when  Tabby  was  not  looking,  and  remove  the  "eyes" 
herself.  Never  once  did  she  omit  to  perform  a  duty,  nor 
even  the  smallest  act  of  kindness  or  courtesy,  on  account 
of  her  literary  work. 

The  success  of  "Jane  Eyre"  was  great  and  immedi- 
ate. Messrs.  Smith  &  Elder  had  every  reason  to  be  glad 
of  their  connection  with  that  "  C.  Bell.  Esquire,"  to  whom 
they  addressed  their  business  letters  under  cover  to  Miss 
Bronte.  C.  Bell  herself  was  glad  and  proud,  in  a  quiet 
way,  and  thought  it  time  to  tell  her  father  of  her  suc- 
cess— for  he  had  not  been  the  confidante  of  his  chil- 
dren in  their  literary  ventures.  One  day,  she  went  in 
to  him  in  his  study,  taking  with  her  a  copy  of  her  novel 
and  several  reviews  of  it,  one  adverse,  the  others  favora- 
ble. Mrs.  Gaskell  relates  the  conversation  that  followed, 
as  it  was  told  to  her  by  Charlotte. 

"  Papa,"  said  the  daughter,  "  I've  been  writing  a  book." 

"  Have  you,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  you  to  read  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  try  iny  eyes  too  much." 

"  But  it  is  not  in  manuscript ;  it  is  printed." 

"  My  dear  !  you've  never  thought  of  the  expense  it  will 
be !  It  will  be  almost  sure  to  be  a  loss,  for  how  can  you 
get  a  book  sold  ?     No  one  knows  you  or  your  name." 

"  But,  papa, I  don't  think  it  will  be  a  loss ;  no  more  will 
you  if  you  will  let  me  read  you  a  review  or  two,  and  tell 
you  more  about  it." 

She  read  him  the  reviews  and  left  him  "  Jane  Eyre." 
When  he  came  down  that  evening  to  tea  he  said  to  his 
daughters : 

"  Girls,  do  you  know  Charlotte  has.  been  writing  a  book, 
and  it  is  much  better  than  likely  !  " 

It  was  not  until  after  the  publication  of  "  Jane  Eyre  " 
that  "  Wuthcring  Heights"  and  "Agnes  Gray,"  long  as 


THE    BRONTE   SISTERS.  43 

they  had  been  in  the  hands  of  the  publishers,  were  given 
to  the  world.  "  Agnes  Grey  "  was  a  carefully  written 
study  of  the  life  of  a  governess,  and  was,  perhaps,  some- 
thing above  the  average  novel  of  the  day.  "  Wuthcring 
Heights  "  was  far  different.  It  is  a  tale  of  horror,  vio- 
lence and  crime,  relieved  only  by  two  brief  love  scenes  afc 
the  end,  brightly  and  delicately  drawn  and  novel  in  con- 
ception. It  is  a  book  which,  once  taken  up,  it  is  not  easy 
to  lay  down  unfinished  ;  which  people  sit  up  late  at  night 
to  read,  and  which  haunts  them  in  their  sleep,  bringing 
them  evil  and  fantastic  dreams.  It  is  a  morbid  book, 
real  in  its  very  unreality,  but  its  power  is  incontestable. 
Emily  has  been  blamed  for  choosing  a  subject  so  forbidding ; 
but  remembering  her  gloomy  and  wild  environment,  her 
solitary  nature,  and  the  drunken,  desperate  brother  ever 
present  in  her  home,  we  can  scarcely  wonder  at  her 
choice.  Besides,  as  has  been  beautifully  and  truly  said 
by  Miss  Robinson,  a  lady  who  has  recently  related  the 
story  of  Emily's  life  with  rare  truth  and  insight : 

"  From  the  clear  spirit  which  inspires  the  end  of  her 
work,  we  know  that  the  storm  is  over ;  we  know  that  her 
next  tragedy  would  be  less  violent." 

"Agnes  Gray"  and  "Wuthcring  Heights"  met  with 
little  favor  from  the  public.  Anne  wrote  one  other  novel, 
"  The  Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall,"  in  which  she  attempted, 
with  some  success,  to  depict  her  brother  Branwcll ;  and 
this  work  succeeded  better.  But  Emily,  whose  genius, 
though  widely  different,  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of 
her  more  famous  sister  Charlotte,  wrote  no  more. 

Trouble  was  coming  again  upon  the  patient  sisters. 
Branwell  grew  worse  and  worse,  his  sufferings  and  parox- 
ysms more  and  more  terrible,  until,  in  1848,  the  end  came. 
By  a  last  strange  exercise  of  will  he  insisted  upon  meet- 
ing his  death  standing.  He  died  erect  upon  his  feet, 
after  a  struggle  of  twenty  minutes.     Emily,  whose  health 


44  THE   BRONTE   SISTERS. 

had  for  some  time  been  failing,  went  to  his  funeral  and 
sat  for  the  last  time  in  the  damp,  melancholy  church ; 
indeed,  it  was  the  last  time  that  she  ever  left  the  house. 
She  was  dying  of  consumption. 

We  can  imagine  no  sadder  record  than  that  of  Emily 
Bronte's  illness  and  death.  Every  hope  of  her  life  had 
been  blighted.  The  school,  which  was  to  keep  herself 
and  her  sisters  together  in  the  home  she  loved,  had  failed  ; 
her  novel,  into  which  she  had  put  her  heart  and  her 
ambition,  had  failed  too  ;  her  dearly  beloved  brother,  for 
whom  she  had  dreamed  of  fortune  and  fame,  had  just 
died  disgraced,  despised,  and  miserable.  Now  she  felt  her- 
self dying.  With  a  last  exercise  of  will  stranger  and 
sadder  than  his,  with  a  courage  and  endurance  almost 
incredible,  she  refused  even  to  own  that  she  was  not  well, 
and  went  about  her  daily  duties,  pale,  thin,  and  panting  ; 
creeping  slowly  down  the  stairs  with  her  hand  against 
the  wall  in  the  morning,  toiling  at  household  labors 
throughout  the  day,  and  dragging  herself  painfully  to  her 
bed  at  night. 

She  refused  to  see  a  doctor  ;  she  refused  to  take  medi- 
cine ;  she  refused  to  rest ;  and  her  sisters,  who  did  not 
dare  to  cross  her,  looked  on  with  breaking  hearts  as  she 
grew  weaker  day  by  day.  On  the  day  of  her  death  she 
rose  as  usual  and  sat  down  before  the  fire  to  comb  her 
long,  brown  hair ;  but  she  was  too  weak,  and  the  comb 
fell  from  her  hand  and  dropped  into  the  hot  ashes,  where 
it  lay  for  some  time  giving  forth  the  nauseous  odor  of 
burning  bone.  When  the  servant  came  in  Emily  said  to 
her,  pointing  to  it,  "  Martha,  my  comb's  down  there.  I 
was  too  weak  to  stoop  and  pick  it  up." 

Nevertheless  she  finished  dressing,  tottered  dizzily 
down  the  stairs,  and  taking  up  a  piece  of  work  attempted 
to  sew.  Towards  noon  she  turned  to  her  sisters,  saying 
in  a  gasping  whisper,  for  she  could  no  longer  speak  aloud : 


THE   BRONTE   SISTERS.  45 

"  If  you  will  send  for  a  doctor,  I  will  see  him  now." 

But  it  was  too  late,  and  her  sufferings  rapidly  increased. 
At  two  o'clock  Charlotte  and  Anne  implored*  her  to  let 
them  get  her  to  her  room  and  to  her  bed. 

"  No  !  no  ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  tried  to  rise,  leaning 
heavily  upon  the  sofa.     In  that  act  she  died. 

Mr.  Bronte,  Charlotte,  and  Anne,  who  was  already 
dying  of  the  same  disease,  followed  her  to  the  grave ;  and 
with  them  walked  Emily's  great  mastiff,  "  Keeper,"  follow- 
ing them  even  into  the  church,  where  he  lay  quietly 
throughout  the  services.  After  the  funeral  he  went  up  to 
Emily's  room  and  laid  himself  down  across  the  threshhold 
of  her  door,  where  he  remained  for  many  days,  howling 
piteously  when  they  tried  to  entice  him  away. 

Charlotte's  next  novel  was  "  Shirley  ; "  the  heroine  of 
which,  the  gay  and  independent  Shirley  Keeldar,  is  a 
portrait  of  Emily  Bronte,  as  her  loving  sister  believed 
she  would  have  been  had  she  been  fortunate  and  happy. 
Many  of  Emily's  traits,  some  even  of  the  incidents  of  her 
life,  arc  given  in  this  book.  "  Keeper "  figures  in  it  as 
Tartar ;  Shirley's  habit  of  sitting  upon  a  rug,  reading, 
with  her  arm  about  the  great  dog's  neck,  was  also  Emily's  • 
and  in  "  Captain  Keeldar,"  we  recognize  an  alteration  of 
Emily's  nickname  of  the  Major.  The  famous  incident  of 
the  mad  dog,  too,  happened  to  Emily  as  well  as  to  Shirley, 
It  was  no  fiction.  But,  although  Shirley  is  a  pleasing 
and  a  noble  girl,  and  shows  Emily  in  a  more  attractive 
light  than  ever  shone  upon  her  in  real  life,  yet  we  miss 
some  of  the  real  Emily's  most  striking  characteristics. 
We  miss  her  patient  endurance  of  hard  drudgery,  her 
faithful  household  affections,  and  her  thoughtful  kind- 
nesses for  others.  It  is  not  easy  to  imagine  a  Shirley 
Keeldar  rising  early  in  the  morning  and  performing  the 
hardest  portion  of  the  household  labor  in  order  to  spare 
an  aged  servant;  yet  that  was  what  Emily  Bronte  did. 


46  THE    BRONTE    SISTERS. 

Excepting  her  early  tale,  "  The  Professor,"  which  has 
been  given  to  the  public  since  her  death,  Charlotte  wrote 
but  one  otter  novel — "  Villette."  This  work,  of  which 
the  scene  is  laid  in  Belgium,  is  regarded  by  many  as  her 
best.  Its  incidents  are  less  thrilling  than  those  of  "  Jane 
Eyre,"  its  style  less  fiery.  Nevertheless  it  is  not  lacking 
in  passion ;  and  if  Lucy  Snowe  attracts  us  less  than  Jane, 
who  would  exchange  Monsieur  Paul  Emanuel — imperious, 
whimsical,  extravagant,  and  thoroughly  natural — for  such 
an  impossible  hero  as  Rochester  ?  Ginevra  Fanshawe, 
too,  and  Madame  Beck,  are  characters  more  true  and 
striking  than  any  to  be  found  in  "  Jane  Eyre." 

The  public,  after  the  publication  of  "  Jane  Eyre," 
became  deeply  interested  in  discovering  the  identity  of 
Currer  Bell,  and  in  discussing  the  question  of  her  sex. 
Nor  was  the  riddle  soon  solved.  Miss  Martineau,  who 
was  one  of  the  earliest  to  know  the  truth,  gives  an 
interesting  account  of  the  beginning  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the  unknown,  yet  famous  author.  She  received 
one  day,  while  residing  in  London,  a  parcel  accompanied 
by  a  note.  Ths  parcel  contained  a  copy  of  "  Shirley," 
then  just  published,  and  the  note  ran  as  follows: 

"  Currer  Bell  offers  a  copy  of  '  Shirley '  to  Miss  Mar- 
tincau's  acceptance,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  pleasure  and 
profit  ^Ite  (sic)  he  has  derived  from  her  works.  When 
C.  B.  first  read  '  Deerbrook '  he  tasted  a  new  and  keen 
pleasure,  and  experienced  a  genuine  benefit.  In  his 
mind,  '  Deerbrook '  ranks  with  the  writings  that  have 
really  done  him  good,  added  to  his  stock  of  ideas,  and 
rectified  his  views  of  life." 

This  masculine  note  did  not,  in  Miss  Martineau's  eyes, 
determine  the  sex  of  the  writer.  The  half-erased  "  she  " 
in  it,  might,  to  be  sure,  have  had  reference  to  Miss  Mar- 
tineau herself,  and  the  form  of  the  sentence  might  have 
been  subsequently  altered.     Still,  it  left  everything  uncer- 


THE    BRONTii    SISTERS.  47 

tain,  and  when,  a  little  later,  she  received  an  intimation 
that  Currer  Bell  would  call  upon  her,  she  did  not  know 
whether  to  expect  a  gentleman  or  a  lady.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  interest  and  excitement  that  she  awaited  at  the 
appointed  hour  the  arrival  of  her  distinguished  visitor. 

"  Precisely  as  the  time-piece  struck  six,"  says  Miss 
Martineau,  relating  the  incident  in  her  Autobiography, 
"a  carriage  stopped  at  the  door;  and,  after  a  minute  of 
suspense,  the  footman  announced  '  Miss  Brogden  ; '  where- 
upon my  cousin  informed  me  that  it  was  Miss  Bronte ; 
for  we  had  heard  the  name  before,  among  others,  in  the 
way  of  conjecture.  I  thought  her  the  smallest  creature  I 
had  ever  seen  (except  at  a  fair),  and  her  eyes  blazed,  as 
it  seemed  to  me.  She  glanced  cpiickly  round ;  and  my 
trumpet  pointing  me  out,  she  held  out  her  hand  frankly 
and  pleasantly.  I  introduced  her,  of  course,  to  the 
family ;  and  then  came  a  moment  which  I  had  not  antici- 
pated. When  she  was  seated  by  me  on  the  sofa,  she  cast 
up  at  me  such  a  look — so  loving,  so  appealing — that,  in 
connection  with  her  deep  mourning  dress  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  the  sole  survivor  of  her  family,  I  could 
with  the  utmost  difficulty  return  her  smile,  or  keep  my 
composure.     I  should  have  been  heartily  glad  to  cry." 

It  was  perhaps  as  high  a  compliment  as  Miss  Mar- 
tineau ever  received,  for  her  society  to  be  thus  sought  by 
Charlotte  Bronte.  She  was  so  painfully  shy  that,  when 
she  spoke  in  company  at  all,  she  would  gradually  wheel 
around  in  her  chair  until  she  was  seated  almost  with  her 
back  toward  the  person  whom  she  was  addressing. 

Miss  Bronte  was  always  plain  ;  she  considered  herself 
repulsively  ugly.  Her  features  were  indeed  large  and 
irregular,  and  her  mouth  a  little  crooked,  but  her  expres- 
sion was  so  animated  and  intelligent  when  she  talked, 
that  her  face  became  most  attractive.  Even  in  secluded 
Haworth  she  was  not  without  admirers ;  she  had  received 


48  THE   BRONTii   SISTERS. 

several  proposals  of  marriage,  which  she  hastily  but 
firmly  declined.  At  length  a  curate  of  her  father's,  Mr. 
Nicholls,  asked  her  hand.  He  had  loved  her  for  several 
years.  She  knew  him  well  and  esteemed  him  deeply, 
and,  although  she  had  never  before  thought  of  him  as  a 
lover,  she  felt  as  though  she  could  be  contented  as  his 
wife.  Before  accepting  him,  however,  she  consulted  her 
father.  Mr.  Bronte  objected,  and  Charlotte  quietly  put 
aside  the  happiness  within  her  reach,  and  gave  an  unfavor- 
able answer.  But  Mr.  Bronte  gradually  changed  his  mind, 
and  in  a  year's  time  gave  his  consent  to  the  marriage ; 
although,  with  characteristic  perversity,  he  refused  at  the 
last  minute  to  go  to  the  church  and  give  his  daughter 
away. 

Charlotte  Bronte  was  married  on  the  twenty-ninth  of 
June,  1854.  The  wedding  was  of  the  quietest,  but  the 
pale,  delicate  little  bride  was  very  happy  as  she  left  the 
old  church  on  her  husband's  arm,  followed  by  the  good 
wishes  of  the  villagers  who  had  gathered  to  see  her  pass. 
She  was  dressed  in  soft  white,  with  no  color  about  her 
save  green  leaves,  looking,  as  one  who  was  there  told 
Mrs.  Gaskell,  like  a  snow-drop. 

Her  happy  married  life  lasted  but  eight  months.  She 
died  in  March,  1855.  Waking  after  a  long  delirium,  she 
saw  her  husband  bending  above  her  with  a  face  of 
anguish,  murmuring  some  broken  prayer  that  God  would 
spare  her. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  whispered,  looking  up  at  him,  "  I  am  not 
going  to  die,  am  I  ?  He  will  not  separate  us  ;  we  have 
been  so  happy." 


■III. 

QUEEN  VICTORIA. 

THE  Nineteenth  Century  has  justly  been  called  the 
Era  of  Woman.  Whatever  regard  was  formerly 
paid  to  her  for  moral  merit  or  physical  beauty,  her  mental 
powers  were  almost  universally  slighted  and  her  higher 
education  neglected.  Now  in  every  civilized  country  women 
of  talent  and  genius,  in  both  public  and  private  station,  are 
promoting  the  moral  and  material  welfare  and  progress  of 
the  age.  It  is  highly  appropriate,  therefore,  that  for  half 
of  this  century,  and  for  more  than  half,  we  trust,  the  scep- 
tre of  the  mightiest  empire  of  the  world  should  be  wielded 
by  a  woman  who  is  an  honor  to  her  sex,  and  who  for  per- 
sonal merit  deserves  a  place  in  this  list  of  royal  women. 

Alexandrina  Victoria,  Queen  of  the  United  Kingdom  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  was  horn  in  Kensington  Palace 
on  the  24th  day  of  May,  1819.  When  she  was  but  eight 
months  old,  her  father,  Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  fourth  son 
of  the  pious,  stubborn  and  unfortunate  George  III.,  died 
suddenly.  He  had  been  deep  in  debt,  and  thus  his  widow, 
a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  and  regarded  with  disfavor  by 
her  relations  by  marriage,  had,  even  while  living  in  a  pal- 
ace, to  undertake  the  melancholy  struggle  of  keeping  up 
appearances.  Fortunately  she  was  a  woman  of  sense  and 
cheerful  disposition,  and  had  the  invaluable  assistance  of 
her  brother,  Prince  Leopold,  whose  wife,  the  Princess 
Charlotte,  once  the  hope  and  joy  of  the  English  people,  had 
died  a  few  months  after  her  marriage.  Now  he  acted  nobly 
a  brother's  part  to  his  widowed  sister,  and  Victoria  long 
4    '  (49) 


50 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


afterward  declared  that  her  visits  to  her  uncle's  residence; 
Claremont,  were  the  happiest  days  of  her  childhood.  With 
the  exception  of  these  visits,  she  lived  a  secluded  and  rather 
dull  life.  She  was  taught  regular  habits,  strict  economy 
and  due  regard  for  the  laws  of  health.  Gifted  with  a  sweet 
voice,  she  became  a  charming  singer.  She  danced  well, 
rode  well,  and  excelled  in  archery.  Her  mother  trained 
her  carefully  with  a  view  to  what  was  from  her  birth  her 
probable  destination.  Victoria  was  the  first  princess  of  the 
blood,  yet  not  until  she  was  twelve  years  old  was  she  in- 
formed of  her  position  as  beyond  that  of  her  cousins.  Her 
governess  then  pointed  out  her  place  in  the  genealogical 
table,  and  the  little  princess  exclaimed,  "Now  many  a  child 
would  boast,  but  they  don't  know  the  difficulty.  There  is 
much  splendor,  but  there  is  much  responsibility."  Then 
giving  her  hand  to  her  governess,  she  said,  "  I  will  be 
good.  I  understand  now  why  you  urged  me  so  much  to 
learn  even  Latin."  And  so  yielding  to  no  vain  dreams,  she 
sought  wisdom  and  knowledge  for  the  task  of  ruling  a  great 
people. 

When  she  was  eighteen  years  old  that  responsibility 
came.  Her  uncle,  William  IV.,  died  on  June  20th,  1837,  at 
the  age  of  sixty-five.  Before  sunrise  on  that  morning,  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  the  Marquis  of  Conyngham 
were  pounding  and  ringing  at  the  gates  of  Kensington  Pal- 
ace for  admission  to  the  Queen.  She  had  to  be  aroused 
from  sleep,  but,  knowing  the  importance  of  their  visit,  she 
came  down  at  once  in  a  loose  white  night-gown  and  shawl, 
with  her  hair  falling  on  her  shoulders,  her  feet  in  slippers, 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  perfectly  collected  and  dignified. 
When  she  heard  their  message,  she  said  simply  to  the 
Primate,  "  I  beg  your  Grace  to  pray  for  me,"  which  the 
good  man  willingly  did.  Arrangements  were  then  made  for 
her  reception  of  the  council  at  eleven  o'clock.  Here,  with 
calmness  and  gentle  dignity,  she  received  the  homage  of  the 


OUEEN  VICTORIA. 


LIBRARY 

tHMYERSmr  OF  ILLINOIS 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


53 


peers  of  England,  including  even  her  own  uncles.  We  are 
assured  by  an  eye-witness  that,  as  these  old  men  knelt  before 
her,  swearing  allegiance  and  kissing  her  hand,  she  blushed 
up  to  the  eyes.  When  she  retired  the  statesmen  declared 
themselves  charmed  with  her  appearance  and  behavior,  and 
their  feeling  was  soon  shared  by  all  ranks  of  the  people. 
The  splendid  ceremonies  of  the  coronation  took  place  in 
Westminster  Abbey  on  June  28th,  1838.  A  month  later  she 
was  called  to  perform  a  public  duty,  which  was  also  attended 
with  great  parade.  She  went  in  state  to  dissolve  Parlia- 
ment. Among  the  Americans  attracted  to  the  splendid 
spectacle  was  Charles  Sumner.  He  wrote  to  a  friend:  "I 
Mas  astonished  and  delighted.  Her  voice  is  sweet  and 
finely  modulated,  and  she  pronounced  every  word  distinctly, 
and  with  a  just  regard  to  its  meaning.  I  think  I  never 
heard  anything  better  read  in  my  life  than  her  speech,  and 
I  could  but  respond  to  Lord  Fitz-William's  remark  to  me 
when  the  ceremony  was  over,  'How  beautifully  she  per- 
forms ! ' " 

Amid  the  round  of  gayeties  which  naturally  marked  the 
first  year  of  the  youthful  Queen's  reign,  her  actions  still 
bore  testimony  to  her  mother's  fruitful  training.  The  good 
daughter  won  golden  opinions  from  all  with  whom  she  came 
in  contact.  Her  reverence  for  her  father's  memory  led 
her  to  pay  the  remainder  of  his  debts.  She  said  to  Lord 
Melbourne,  then  Prime  Minister,  "I  want  to  pay  all  that 
remain  of  my  father's  debts.  I  must  do  it.  I  consider  it  a 
sacred  duty."  Her  wish  was  complied  with,  and  she  sent 
also  to  the  largest  creditors  valuable  pieces  of  plate  as 
tokens  of  gratitude  for  their  favor  to  her  father. 

It  was  long  since  England  had  had  a  queen  regnant. 
Victoria  did  not  desire,  like  her  famous  predecessor,  Queen 
Elizabeth,  to  bear  the  splendid  burden  of  royalty  alone.  A 
year  before  her  accession  her  cousin,  Prince  Allxu't  of  Saxc- 
Coburg  Gotha,  had  visited  her.     From  his  infancy,  for  he 


54 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


was  a  few  months  younger  than  Victoria,  it  was  the  earnest 
wish  of  their  fond  mothers  that  these  two  should  be  united 
in  marriage.  When  they  met,  after  brief  acquaintance  of 
each  other's  tastes  and  disposition,  they  showed  mutual 
pleasure,  and  when  their  kind  uncle,  Leopold,  now  King  of 
Belgium,  suggested  to  the  princess  the  idea  of  their  union, 
she  gladly  accepted  the  proposal.  But  reflection  on  her 
public  duty  afterward  led  her  to  postpone  a  decisive  ar- 
rangement till  she  should  be  of  age.  The  engagement,  if 
such  it  was,  seemed  to  be  broken  off;  the  coronation  did  not 
hasten  its  renewal.  In  later  life  she  wrote,  "A  worse  school 
for  a  young  girl — one  more  detrimental  to  all  natural  feel- 
ings and  affections — cannot  well  be  imagined  than  the  posi- 
tion of  a  Queen  at  eighteen,  without  experience  and  without 
a  husband  to  guide  and  support  her.  This  the  Queen  can 
state  from  painful  experience,  and  she  thanks  God  that  none 
of  her  own  dear  daughters  are  exposed  to  such  danger." 

In  October,  1839,  Prince  Albert  and  his  brother  came  to 
see  their  royal  cousin.  A  week  later,  in  spite  of  high  re- 
solves and  royal  duty  and  maidenly  modesty,  Love  found 
his  way  into  the  palace  and  broke  down  the  barriers  which 
were  keeping  apart  hearts  destined  to  be  one.  The  Queen 
has  since  told  the  story  herself  with  touching  simplicity. 
They  were  married  on  the  10th  of  February,  1840,  a  day 
which  began  with  clouds  and  rain,  but,  after  the  ceremony, 
changed  to  what  the  loyal  English  people  call  the  "  Queen's 
weather." 

All  the  world  knows  their  married  life  to  have  been  a 
happy  one.  The  Queen  has  given  us  a  full  sketch  of  a  day 
of  that  time:  "They  breakfasted  at  nine,  and  took  a  walk 
every  morning  soon  afterward  ;  then  came  the  usual  amount 
of  business  (far  less  heavy,  however,  than  now),  besides 
which  they  drew  and  etched  a  great  deal  together,  which  was 
a  source  of  great  amusement,  having  the  plates  bit  in  the 
house.     Luncheon  followed  at  the  usual  hour  of  two  o'clock. 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


55 


Lord  Melbourne  came  to  the  Queen  in  the  afternoon,  and 
between  five  and  six  the  Prince  generally  drove  her  out  in 
a  pony-phaeton.  If  the  Prince  did  not  drive  the  Queen,  he 
rode,  in  which  case  she  took  a  drive  with  her  mother  or  the 
ladies.  The  Prince  also  read  aloud  most  days  to  the  Queen. 
The  dinner  was  at  eight  o'clock,  and  always  with  com- 
pany. .  .  .  The  hours  were  never  late,  and  it  was  very  sel- 
dom that  the  party  had  not  broken  up  at  eleven  o'clock." 

Under  the  example  and  influence  of  the  royal  pair,  life  at 
the  English  Court,  which  had  long  been  filled  with  scandal 
and  strife,  became  marked  by  purity  and  virtue.  Prince 
Albert's  pleasures  were  all  domestic;  his  taste  was  for  a 
quiet  and  unostentatious  life. 

Peace  and  quiet  reigned  in  the  Court,  and  the  removal  of 
all  disturbing  influences  there  enabled  the  statesmen  of  the 
day  to  give  all  the  more  attention  to  the  actual  needs  of  mil- 
lions of  people.  Evils  which  hail  originated  with  the  great 
wars  against  Xapoleon  pressed  with  crushing  weight  on  the 
laboring  classes.  Agricultural  distress  had  developed  into 
famine,  and  the  laws  enacted  in  1815  prohibited  the  im- 
portation of  grain  for  its  relief.  Turbulence  and  riots  fol- 
lowed, and  the  evils  grew  worse.  What  could  the  Queen 
do  to  alleviate  the  misery  of  her  subjects?  By  the  advice 
of  her  ministers,  she  checked  the  gayeties  of  the  court;  she 
even  submitted  to  a  reduction  of  her  income.  At  the  bap- 
tism of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in  January,  1842,  it  was  pre- 
scribed that  the  dresses  worn  by  members  of  the  court 
should  be  of  Scotch  manufacture,  in  order  to  set  a  fashion 
and  stimulate  home  production.  But  these  remedies  were 
trifling.  A  mightier  power  than  Queen  or  Court  must  be 
invoked.  Richard  Cobden,  seeing  the  magnitude  of  the 
evil,  and  discerning  its  cause,  appealed  to  the  people  to 
abolish  the  duties  on  grain.  The  agitation  was  carried  on 
by  Cobden,  Bright  and  others  for  seven  long  years,  and  at 
last  the  walls  of  the  English  Jericho  fell  down.     Sir  Robert 


56 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


Pool,  who  had  become  Prime  Minister  in  1841,  pledged  to 
maintain  the  Corn  Laws,  gave  way  before  the  pressure  of 
opinion,  and  in  1846  joined  with  the  majority  in  repealing 
them.  The  laws  which  at  former  times  in  the  world's  his- 
tory were  made  and  repealed  at  a  sovereign's  pleasure  are 
now  made  and  repealed  in  obedience  to  the  wish  of  the 
people.  The  events  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria  furnish  a 
prominent  proof  of  the  new  order  of  things. 

Yet  while  the  governing  power  of  the  Queen  is  greatly 
diminished  since  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  there  still 
remains  to  the  sovereign  a  powerful  personal  influence  on 
the  destinies  of  nations.  In  1848  a  wave  of  revolution 
swept  over  Europe,  kings  were  driven  from  their  thrones, 
and  republics  were  organized  in  various  countries.  That  in 
France  lasted  longest,  but  was  overthrown  three  years  later 
by  the  ambition  and  treachery  of  its  President.  When 
Louis  Napoleon  had  established  a  firm  government  and 
sought  the  friendship  and  alliance  of  England,  the  Queen 
gave  the  usurper  a  welcome  to  the  brotherhood  of  sov- 
ereigns. In  1854  Prince  Albert  visited  the  Emperor,  and 
in  the  next  year  visits  were  interchanged  between  the 
sovereigns.  Victoria  and  Albert,  lovers  of  peace,  desired  to 
establish  amicable  relations  between  the  two  great  nations, 
so  long  hostile,  and  in  great  measure  they  succeeded,  as  the 
subsequent  history  of  Europe  has  shown.  When  the 
French  Emperor,  after  a  brilliant  but  not  prosperous  career, 
was  driven  from  his  throne,  he  found  refuge  in  England. 
There  his  widow  still  lives  in  seclusion,  mourning  her  son, 
who  fell  in  a  distant  land,  fighting  in  English  uniform  for 
England's  cause. 

Though  Prince  Albert  by  his  natural  disposition  and 
sense  of  duty  had  admirably  filled  the  station  he  was  called 
to  occupy,  it  was  not  till  1857  that  he  received  by  act  of 
Parliament  the  title  of  Prince  Consort.  By  the  Queen's 
prerogative  he  had  heretofore  had  the  precedence  which  was 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


57 


his  due.  The  granting  of  the  new  title  was  a  national 
tribute  to  his  admirable  character.  It  was  not  long  after 
that  the  Princess  Royal,  who  bore  her  mother's  name, 
left  her  mother's  side,  when  she  was  married  to  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Prussia.  The  first  permanent  breach  in  the  royal 
family  circle  was  the  death  of  the  Duchess  of  Kent,  in 
March,  1861.  This  mournful  event  was  followed  too  soon 
bv  what  has  been  the  great  sorrow  of  the  Queen's  life,  tho 
death  of  her  husband.  His  health  had  been  declining  for 
some  time;  yet  he  continued  to  attend  to  his  public  duties. 
Americans  should  know  that  his  last  important  act  had 
reference  to  this  country.  It  was  to  modify  the  tone  of  the 
demand  of  the  English  Government  on  the  United  States 
for  the  liberation  of  the  Confederate  envoys,  who  had  in 
violation  of  international  law  been  seized  on  the  British 
mail  steamer  ''Trent"  by  Captain  Wilkes  of  the  American 
Navy.  The  Prince's  milder  words  enabled  our  Government 
to  withdraw  honorably  from  this  false  step,  and  thus  un- 
doubtedly prevented  a  declaration  of  war  between  the  two 
great  nations.  Then,  exhausted,  Albert  lay  down  to  die. 
On  the  14th  of  December,  1861,  after  twenty-one  years  of 
singularly  happy  married  life,  he  passed  away.  His  vir- 
tues are  summed  up  in  the  title  Albert  the  Good. 

On  the  morrow  after  her  bereavement,  the  Queen  is  said 
to  have  exclaimed  :  "  There  is  no  one  to  call  me  'Victoria' 
now."  She  retired  from  public  view,  though  the  people 
really  desired  to  be  partners  in  her  affliction.  For  many 
years  she  refrained  from  taking  part  in  royal  ceremonials, 
yet  she  still  discharged  faithfully  her  obligations  to  her 
family  and  her  country. 

Many  years  after,  when  some  parliamentary  fault-finders 
ventured  to  criticise  her  long  seclusion  from  public  affairs, 
Lord  Beaconsfield  bore  public  testimony  to  her  fidelity  to  the 
interests  of  the  nation : 

"  There  is  not  a  dispatch  received  from  abroad,  or  sent 


58  QUEEN    VICTORIA. 

from  this  country  abroad,  which  is  not  submitted  to  the 
Queen.  The  whole  of  the  internal  administration  of  this 
country  greatly  depends  upon  the  sign-manual ,  of  our  sov- 
ereign, and  it  may  be  said  that  her  signature  has  never  been 
placed  to  any  public  document  of  which  she  did  not  know 
the  purpose,  and  of  which  she  did  not  approve.  ...  At  this 
moment  there  is  probably  no  person  living  who  has  such 
complete  control  over  the  political  condition  of  England  as 
the  sovereign  herself." 

In  the  course  of  her  long  reign  there  have  been  many 
political  changes.  When  she  came  to  the  throne  the  Whigs 
had  control  of  Parliament  and  seemed  likely  long  to  continue 
in  power.  When,  in  August,  1841,  the  Whig  ministry  re- 
signed, Sir  Robert  Peel  became  Premier,  and  at  his  first  in- 
terview the  Queen  rather  awkwardly  remarked  that  she  was 
sorry  to  part  with  Lord  Melbourne.  But  she  afterwards 
became  used  to  these  changes,  and  left  the  people  to  decide 
in  their  own  way  whom  they  wished  to  send  as  her  chief 
constitutional  advisers.  In  her  later  days,  two  men  stood 
forth  pre-eminent  by  force  of  genius,  each  in  turn  deputed 
to  submit  to  her  his  party's  plans  for  the  country's  welfare 
and  glory — one  of  unmistakable  Jewish  descent,  the  other 
of  Lowland  Scotch — yet  each  in  his  own  way  devoted  to 
what  he  believed  the  interests  of  England.  Strange,  per- 
haps, to  say,  she  gave  her  personal  preference  to  the  former, 
though  she  treated  both  with  the  stately  courtesy  which 
their  respective  places  demanded.  In  his  youth  Disraeli 
had  been  one  of  the  foremost  of  the  Young  England  party, 
whose  rallying  cry  had  been  "  Our  young  Queen  and  our 
old  Constitution."  To  his  fervid  protestations  of  loyalty 
may  have  been  due  that  friendship  which  she  ever  cherished 
for  him,  while  Gladstone's  more  measured  utterances, 
though  really  heartfelt,  did  not  so  readily  kindle  her 
sympathy. 

To  Disraeli's  Oriental  tastes  and  sympathies  Queen  Vic- 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


59 


toria  owes  the  addition  to  her  title,  made  in  1876,  "Em- 
press of  India."  It  was  bestowed  after  the  Prince  of  Wales 
had  returned  from  a  brilliant  tour  in  that  magnificent  and 
populous  portion  of  Her  Majesty's  possessions.  Though  re- 
ceived without  enthusiasm  by  sober-minded  Englishmen,  it 
still  bears  testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  destinies  of  mil- 
lions of  men  of  widely  different  race,  language  and  religion, 
are  intimately  connected  with  the  life  of  a  fair  daughter  of 
the  West, 

At  the  commencement  of  her  reign  Scotland  was  practi- 
cally almost  as  remote  as  India  is  now.  In  the  autumn  of 
1842  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert  made  their  first  visit  to 
Edinburgh,  going  in  a  royal  yacht  towed  by  a  steamship, 
because  the  railroad  communications  between  London  and 
Edinburgh  were  not  yet  complete.  It  was  not  until  1855 
that  the  Queen  took  possession  of  the  new  Balmoral  Castle, 
which  she  built  in  the  Highlands,  and  with  which  her 
name  is  so  closely  associated.  Here,  to  a  certain  extent,  she 
laid  aside  the  cares  of  state  and  the  burdensome  duties  of 
royalty.  Sometimes  she  ventured  to  travel  in  a  kind  of 
disguise,  being  then  addressed  as  Lady  Churchill.  She  says 
in  her  journal :  "  We  were  always  in  the  habit  of  conversing 
with  the  Highlanders  with  whom  we  came  so  much  in  con- 
tact in  the  Highlands.  The  Prince  highly  appreciated  the 
good  breeding,  simplicity  and  intelligence  which  makes  it  so 
pleasant,  and  even  instructive,  to  talk  to  them."  Since  the 
Prince's  death  the  Queen  has  shown  even  greater  fondness 
for  the  seclusion  of  the  Highlands  and  the  society  of  the 
simple  people.  Another  favorite  residence  of  the  Queen  has 
been  Osborne,  on  the  Isle  of  Weight. 

Queen  Victoria  always  gave  close  attention  to  the  educa- 
tion of  her  children,  repeating  in  their  case  with  greater  ad- 
vantages, yet  with  some  drawbacks,  the  systematic  training 
which  she  had  herself  undergone,  and  whose  benefits  she 
had  learned  to  prize.     To  the  royal  children  a  Swiss  cottage 


60 


QUEEN    VICTORIA. 


at  Osborne  was  given  in  entire  charge.  There  the  princes 
dug  in  the  garden,  while  the  princesses  performed  the  duties 
of  the  kitchen.  As  they  grew  older  the  girls  studied  natural 
history  and  made  large  collections  of  birds  and  insects. 
The  boys  learned  something  of  fortifications  under  the  direc- 
tion of  their  father.  Prince  Albert,  both  by  precept  and 
example,  endeavored  to  make  his  sons  feel  the  responsibili- 
ties belonging  to  their  station.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  in  these 
days  of  increasing  democratic  tendencies  only  a  wise  king 
can  maintain  his  place. 

After  the  death  of  Prince  Albert,  the  Queen  felt  it  de- 
sirable to  place  in  enduring  form  tributes  to  his  memory. 
She  also  asked  the  assistance  of  others  in  placing  on  record 
the  memorials  of  his  life.  First  were  published  in  1862  his 
"Speeches  and  Addresses,"  then  in  1867  "  The  Early  Years 
of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  Consort,"  compiled  by  Lieutenant- 
General  C.  Grey,  and  in  1875  "The  Life  of  H.  11.  H.  the 
Prince  Consort,"  by  Theodore  Martin,  on  whom  the  Queen 
conferred  the  honor  of  knighthood. 

Her  close  and  constant  connection  with  these  literary 
labors  led  her  also  to  venture  modestly  into  the  field  of  au- 
thorship. Pier  first  book  was  "Our  Life  in  the  High- 
lands," which  records  her  memories  of  the  happy  days  spent 
with  him  who  was  the  light  of  her  life.  Fifteen  years  later 
she  sent  forth  "  More  Leaves  from  the  Journal  of  a  Life  in 
the  Highlands,"  showing:  how  she  had  learned  lessons  of 
resignation  and  faith  from  the  simple  mountaineers,  and 
was  cheered  by  romantic  excursions  in  Nature's  wilds. 
Such  admission  of  the  public  to  the  quiet  joys  and  sorrows 
of  the  domestic  life  of  the  Queen  of  course  disarms  criti- 
cism, as  it  treats  the  reader  as  a  privileged  guest.  We  see 
in  them,  as  in  all  that  is  recorded  of  her  life  and  acts,  a  noble 
woman,  who  has  in  one  of  the  most  difficult  stations  in  life 
grandly,  yet  quietly,  discharged  her  duty  as  daughter,  wife, 
mother  and  queen.  The  inspiration  of  her  whole  life  is 
perfect  faith  in  God  and  devotion  to  duty. 


IV. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

IN  the  west  of  England,  a  few  miles  from  the  ancient  town 
of  Ledbury,  in  full  view  of  the  beautiful  Malvern  Hills, 
Elizabeth  Barrett  lived  from  infancy  to  womanhood.  There 
she  wrote  verses  at  the  age  of  eight,  and  even  earlier;  at 
eleven  she  composed  a  great  epic,  called  "The  Battle  of 
Marathon,"  and  her  fond  father  had  fifty  copies  of  it 
printed.  Her  love  of  Pope's  Homer  led  her  into  the  study 
of  Greek.  She  gathered  visions  from  Plato  and  the  drama- 
tists, and  ate  and  drank  Greek  and  made  her  head  ache 
with  it.  Strange  education  for  a  girl,  delicate  and  lovely  ! 
Stranger  still  that  she  should  take  delight  in  it. 

In  1826,  when  she  was  eighteen,  her  "Essay  on  Mind, 
and  other  Poems "  was  published.  Some  of  the  minor 
poems  had  been  written  at  the  age  of  thirteen.  The  chief 
one  was  in  the  style  of  Pope's  "Essay  on  Man,"  and  really 
showed  power  of  thought  and  expression.  Still  more  did 
it  show  her  wide  range  of  reading,  but  she  afterwards  re- 
jected it  from  her  collected  works,  condemning  it  for 
"didactic  pedantry."  In  her  studies  she  had  as  guide 
Hugh  Stuart  Boyd,  a  man  noted  for  learning,  though  blind. 
Mrs.  Browning  afterwards  described  him  as  "enthusiastic 
for  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  and  one  of  the  most  simple 
and  upright  of  human  beings."  In  her  sonnets  she  em- 
balms his  memory,  and  her  beautiful  poem,  "  Wine  of 
Cyprus,"  recalls  her  youthful  studies. 

Her  critical  faculties  were  early  developed,  but  the  no- 
bility of  her  mind  enabled  her  to  appreciate  at  their  due 

(01) 


62 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


worth  the  best  efforts  of  other  poets.  She  was  not  content 
to  judge  and  defend  ;  she  must  present  in  English  one  of  the 
great  works  which  she  had  studied.  Hence  her  translation 
of  the  famous  tragedy  of  JEschylus,  "  Prometheus  Bound," 
which  was  published  in  1835.  The  preface  contained  due 
acknowledgment  of  her  indebtedness  to  "  the  learned  Mr. 
Boyd."  Some  years  later  the  author  said  that  this  transla- 
tion was  written  in  twelve  days,  and  "should  have  been 
thrown  in  the  fire  afterwards — the  only  way  to  give  it  a  little 
warmth."  A  new  version  now  appears  in  her  collected  works. 

In  1836  Miss  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  when  on  a  visit  to 
London,  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Barrett,  whose 
parents  had  taken  a  house  in  the  suburbs  of  the  metropolis. 
Miss  Mitford  was  then  a  famous  author.  Her  works  com- 
prised "  Rienzi "  and  other  dramas,  as  well  as  a  novel  or 
two.  She  had  also  published  sketches  of  English  life  in 
"Our  Village."  In  her  "Recollections  of  a  Literary 
Life,"  issued  in  1851,  she  gives  a  sketch  of  her  young 
friend,  Miss  Barrett,  as  she  appeared  at  the  beginning  of 
their  acquaintance: 

"Of  a  slight,  delicate  figure,  with  a  shower  of  dark  curls 
falling  on  either  side  of  a  most  expressive  face,  large,  tender 
eyes  richly  fringed  by  dark  eyelashes,  a  smile  like  a  sun- 
beam, and  such  a  look  of  youthfulness  that  I  had  some 
difficulty  in  persuading  a  friend  in  whose  carriage  we  went 
together  to  Chiswick  that  the  translatress  of  the  'Prome- 
theus' of  .ZEsehylus,  the  authoress  of  the  'Essay  on  Mind/ 
was  old  enough  to  be  introduced  into  company — in  technical 
language,  was  out.'" 

The  two  authors,  in  spite  of  the  difference  in  their  ages 
(cheerful,  gossipy,  red-faced  Miss  Mitford  being  then  in  her 
fiftieth  year),  became  warm  friends,  and  thereafter  corre- 
sponded freely  and  frequently.  Miss  Mitford's  share  of  the 
correspondence  has  been  published,  but  the  other  side  has 
not  yet  seen  the  light. 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


63 


In  the  year  1837  Miss  Barrett  broke  a  bloodvessel  on  the 
lungs.  As  it  refused  to  heal,  her  physician,  at  the  approach 
of  winter,  ordered  her  to  the  milder  climate  of  the  coast. 
She  went  to  Torquay,  Devonshire,  accompanied  by  her  elder 
brother  and  other  relatives.  On  a  bright  morning  in  the 
following  summer  this  brother,  with  two  friends,  embarked 
on  a  small  sailing  vessel  for  a  trip  of  a  few  hours.  Being 
excellent  sailors  and  familiar  with  the  coast,  they  sent  back 
the  boatmen  and  undertook  to  manage  the  little  craft.  But 
within  a  few  minutes,  just  as  they  were  crossing  the  bar,  the 
boat  went  down,  and  all  perished.  The  bodies  were  never 
found,  nor  was  anything  belonging  to  them  recovered. 

Miss  Barrett,  still  physically  weak,  was  utterly  prostrated 
by  grief  and  horror  at  the  tragedy.  She  even  blamed  her- 
self as  having  been  the  indirect  cause  of  the  loss.  Unable 
to  be  moved  from  the  sheltered  house  below  the  cliffs,  she 
heard  for  a  whole  winter  the  sound  of  the  waves  like  the 
moans  of  the  dying.  Her  only  diversion  from  these  painful 
thoughts  was  study.  Her  physician  could  not  approve  such 
occupation  in  one  hanging  between  death  and  life,  and  to 
prevent  his  remonstrances  she  had  an  edition  of  Plato 
bound  like  a  novel.  Yet  she  did  not  disdain  nor  altogether 
discard  novels,  and  to  them  she  owed  "  many  a  still,  serene 
hour." 

When  she  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  removed  to  her 
London  home  in  an  invalid  carriage,  she  was  still  confined 
to  her  couch  in  a  darkened  room.  In  these  years  of  bodily  im- 
prisonment her  spirit  roamed  over  the  universe.  She  enjoyed 
the  loving  care  of  her  family  and  a  few  devoted  friends. 
Of  a  pet  dog,  called  Flush,  she  says  in  a  cheerful  letter: 
"  Flushie  is  my  friend — my  companion — and  loves  me  bet- 
ter than  he  loves  the  sunshine  without.  Oh,  and  if  you  had 
seen  him  when  he  came  home  (after  being  stolen  and  lost 
for  three  days).  He  threw  himself  in  my  arms,  palpitating 
with  joy — in  that  dumb,  inarticulate  ecstasy  which  is  so  af- 


64 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


fecting — love  without  speech."  But  the  patient  sufferer, 
who  could  write  only  while  lying  on  her  back,  had  also  the 
solace  of  her  beloved  books.  "  She  read,"  says  Miss  Mit- 
ford,  "almost  every  book  worth  reading  in  almost  every 
language,  and  gave  herself,  heart  and  soul,  to  that  poetry 
of  which  she  seemed  born  to  be  the  priestess."  From  time 
to  time  volumes  of  her  writing  issued  from  the  press.  Be- 
fore she  left  London,  in  1838,  she  had  published  the  "Sera- 
phim and  other  Poems."  This  is  the  first  of  her  books 
that  she  wished  afterwards  to  acknowledge.  The  earlier 
ones  she  endeavored  to  suppress,  saying,  "I  would  as  soon 
circulate  a  caricature  or  lampoon  on  myself  as  that '  Essay/  " 
and  pronouncing  her  "Prometheus"  "blasphemy  of  iEschy- 
lus."  So  severely  did  she  judge  herself!  From  her  sick- 
chamber  she  sent  to  the  London  Athenreuni  a  series  of 
critical  essays  on  the  Greek  Christian  Poets,  whose  merits 
her  own  sufferings  had  enabled  her  fully  to  understand. 

In  1844  she  published  "  The  Drama  of  Exile,"  and  with  it 
gathered  into  two  volumes  all  she  wished  to  preserve  of  her 
previous  publications.  At  the  end  of  the  first  volume  ap- 
peared the  splendid  poem,  "  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship," 
which,  Miss  Mitford  assures  us,  was  written  in  the  incredibly 
short  space  of  twelve  hours.  That  poem,  thus  rapidly 
tossed  off,  revealed  her  heart,  and  on  it,  altogether  unknown 
to  her,  depended  her  own  fate.  The  book  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Robert  Browning,  who  was  already  known  as  the 
author  of  "  Paracelsus,"  and  was  then  issuing  a  series  of 
plays  and  poems,  under  the  somewhat  fantastic  Biblical  title, 
"  Bells  and  Pomegranates."  What  was  his  delight  to  read 
these  lines: 

"  Or  from  Browning  some  '  Pomegranate,'  which,  if  cut  deep  down  the 
middle, 
Shows  a  heart  within  blood-tinctured,  of  a  varied  humanity." 

Could  he  do  less  than  call  to  thank  the  author  for  the 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


65 


poetic  compliment?  When  he  called  at  Mr.  Barrett's  resi- 
dence kind  fate,  in  the  form  of  a  blundering  servant,  al- 
lowed him  to  enter  the  room  of  the  frail  invalid.  How  the 
blunder  was  explained  to  her  we  know  not;  but  the  poet 
was  allowed  to  renew  his  visits.  Mutual  esteem  begat  affec- 
tion, which  speedily  ripened  into  love,  an  ideal,  perfect  love, 
of  which  there  are  few  parallels  in  history. 

Miss  Barrett  was  still  "a  confirmed  invalid,  just  dressed 
and  supported  for  two  or  three  hours  from  her  bed  to  her 
sofa,  and  so  back  again."  No  wonder  her  family  should  be 
opposed  to  the  match.  But  love  did  for  her  what  the 
kindest  care  and  wisest  treatment  had  been  unable  to  ac- 
complish. It  gave  her  new  life.  After  two  years'  ac- 
quaintance, during  which  time  her  strength  steadily  im- 
proved, she  was  married  to  the  man  whom  she  loved.  She 
accompanied  him  to  sunny  Italy,  where  she  got  better  won- 
derfully and  beyond  her  hopes.  The  deep  emotions  of  her 
heart  have  been  revealed  in  those  exquisite  poems,  which 
she  modestly  called  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,"  in  order 
to  veil  somewhat  their  true  origin.  Here  she  ventured  to 
exclaim : 

"  I  yield  the  grave  for  thy  sake,  and  exchange 
My  near  sweet  view  of  heaven  for  earth  with  thee." 

Robert  Browning  was  worthy  of  the  love  which  she 
lavished  upon  him,  not  only  for  his  genius,  but  for  personal 
worth. 

We  have  from  our  American  poet  and  traveller,  Bayard 
Taylor,  a  description  of  his  appearance  four  years  later,  when 
on  a  visit  with  his  wife  to  London.  "  His  complexion  was 
fair,  with  perhaps  the  faintest  olive  tinge;  eyes  large,  clear 
and  gray;  nose  strong  and  well  cut;  mouth  full  and  rather 
broad,  and  chin  pointed,  though  not  prominent.  His  fore- 
head broadened  rapidly  upwards  from  the  outer  angle  of 
the  eyes,  slightly  retreating.     He  was  about  the  medium 


G6 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


height,  strong  in  the  shoulders,  but  slender  at  the  waist,  and 
his  movements  expressed  a  combination  of  vigor  and  elas- 
ticity. He  was,  I  should  judge,  about  thirty-seven  years 
of  age,  but  his  dark  hair  was  already  streaked  with  gray 
about  the  temples."  Such  was  he  to  look  upon,  and  al- 
ready he  was  recognized  as  one  of  the  greatest  English 
poets,  yet  destined  never  to  be  popular.  Taylor  had  called 
to  see  the  Brownings,  and  tells  us  that  when  Mrs.  Browning 
entered  the  room  her  husband  "  ran  to  meet  her  with  a  boy- 
ish liveliness.  She  was  slight  and  fragile  in  appearance, 
with  a  pale,  wasted  face,  shaded  by  masses  of  soft  chestnut 
curls,  which  fell  on  her  cheeks,  and  serious  eyes  of  bluish- 
gray.  Her  frame  seemed  to  be  altogether  disproportionate 
to  her  soul.  This  at  least  was  the  first  impression  :  her 
personality,  frail  as  it  appeared,  soon  exercised  its  power, 
and  it  seemed  a  natural  thing  that  she  should  have  written 
the  '  Cry  of  the  Children/  or  ■  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship.' 
1  also  understood  how  these  two  poets,  so  different  both  in- 
tellectually and  physically,  should  have  found  their  com- 
plements in  each  other.  They  appear  to  be — and  are — per- 
fectly happy  in  their  wedded  life."  Later  in  the  evening, 
after  the  poets  had  discussed  with  good  humor  whether  a 
republican  form  of  government  is  favorable  to  the  fine  arts, 
another  Browning  appeared  on  the  scene.  "  Their  child,  a 
blue-eyed,  golden-haired  boy  of  two  years  old,  was  brought 
into  the  room.  He  stammered  Italian  sentences  only  :  he 
knew  nothing,  as  yet,  of  his  native  tongue."  The  boy  after- 
wards exhibited  a  remarkable  genius  for  music  and  draw- 
ing. 

The  Brownings  had  made  their  home  at  Florence,  "  The 
flower  of  all  cities,  and  city  of  all  flowers."  Here,  in  the 
grand  and  gloomy  Casa  Guidi,  which  her  genius  has  im- 
mortalized, husband  and  wife  lived  and  wrote  for  more 
than  twenty  years.  She  used  chiefly  the  large  drawing- 
room,  which  opened  on  a  balcony  filled  with  plants,  and 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


67 


looked  out  upon  the  old  church  of  Santa  Felice.  It  was 
fitted  up  with  large  book-cases,  constructed  of  specimens  of 
Florentine  carving  selected  by  Mr.  Browning,  and  filled 
with  books.  The  walls  were  hung  with  tapestry,  and 
besides  some  old  pictures  of  saints  there  were  portraits  of 
Dante,  Keats,  the  boy  Browning,  and  John  Kenyon.  A 
quaint  mirror,  easy  chairs  and  sofas,  with  a  variety  of 
ornaments,  filled  the  partly  darkened  room.  Xear  the  door 
was  a  low  arm-chair,  and  beside  it  a  small  table  strewn  with 
writing  materials,  books  and  papers.  This  was  the  favorite 
haunt  of  the  genius  of  the  place.  Here  she  worked,  dreamed 
marvellous  visions  and  wrote  poems  full  of  ethereal  fire. 
In  another  long  room  filled  with  plaster  casts  and  studies 
Robert  Browning  worked.  Their  dining-room  was  adorned 
with  medallions  of  Tennyson,  Carlyle  and  other  noted 
authors. 

Mrs.  Browning  became  deeply  interested  in  the  fate  of 
her  new  country,  whose  historical  associations  were  so  noble, 
but  whose  people  had  long  seemed  to  be  sunk  in  death. 
Though  she  had  long  before  said  of  herself,  "  I,  who  am  a 
woman,  am  not  made  for  war,"  that  in  truth  was  one  of  the 
objects  for  which  she  lived,  She  was  a  battle-trumpet, 
sounding  loud  and  long  to  wake  the  sleeping  nation  to  new- 
ness of  life.  When  the  Revolution  of  1848  stirred  Italy 
from  the  Alps  to  Sicily  she  rejoiced  in  the  fulfilment  of  her 
hopes.  Her  feelings  are  shown  in  Part  First  of  "Casa 
Guidi  Windows."  The  overthrow  of  the  revolutionary 
attempts  is  bewailed  in  Part  Second,  but  still  with  hope  in 
their  resurrection. 

From  early  youth  Mrs.  Browning  had  given  thought  to 
great  public  questions,  and  especially  to  those  pertaining  to 
the  moral  welfare  of  the  people.  The  "Cry  of  the  Children  " 
is  the  greatest  of  her  poems  of  this  class,  and  its  history 
deserves  notice.  On  her  father's  removal  to  London  she 
became  acquainted  with    Richard    Hengist   Home,  a  poet 


G8 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


and  essayist  of  some  note.  Through  him  some  of  her  poems 
found  their  way  to  the  magazines,  and  he  long  remained  one 
of  her  trusted  friends  and  received  her  help  in  some  of  his 
literary  enterprises.  During  her  years  of  darkness  he  was 
appointed  assistant  commissioner  in  a  government  inquiry 
^into  the  employment  of  children  in  mines  and  manufactor- 
ies. His  friend,  though  then  lying  apparently  at  the  door 
of  death,  read  the  official  reports  and  roused  herself  to  utter 
her  protest  against  the  sacrifice  of  youthful  lives  to  Mam- 
mon. It  has  not  yet  ceased  to  echo  in  the  hearts  of  English- 
speaking  people. 

In  1856  appeared  Mrs.  Browning's  longest  poem,  "Aurora 
Leigh,"  which  embodies  much  of  her  experience.  It  is 
divided  into  nine  books,  and  is  in  fact  a  novel  in  verse. 
It  gives  the  story  of  an  English  girl  educated  with  all  the 
advantages  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  thoroughly  imbued 
with  its  restless  progressive  spirit.  The  author  declared  it 
the  most  mature  of  her  works,  the  one  into  which  her  highest 
convictions  upon  Life  and  Art  had  entered.  She  dedicated 
it  to  her  cousin,  burly  John  Kenyon,  who  had  in  all  her 
career  most  generously  aided  and  encouraged  her. 

In  1859  a  new  movement  for  the  redemption  of  Italy 
from  the  Austrian  yoke  gave  gladness  to  her  soul.  Regard- 
ing Louis  Napoleon  as  the  Liberator  of  Italy  she  gave  him 
glorious  praise  in  more  than  one  poem.  But  the  Peace  of 
Villafranca,  July  11th,  1859,  by  which  so  quickly  after  the 
victories  of  Solferino  and  Magenta  he  brought  to  a  close  the 
war  with  Austria,  was  a  serious  blow  to  her  hopes  and  her 
health.  She  suffered  much,  and  though  she  afterwards 
seemed  to  her  friends  to  rally,  she  never  regained  her  hold 
on  life.  Still  her  profound  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the 
land  of  her  residence  caused  her  to  appeal  to  the  world 
on  its  behalf,  to  call  for  the  completion  of  the  great 
work  which  had  been  begun,  the  regeneration  of  Italy. 
She  lived  to  see  the  first  Italian  Parliament,  but  not  to  see 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 


69 


Rome  the  actual  capital  of  Italy.  She  died  at  Florence, 
June  29th,  1861. 

On  the  front  of  the  gray  walls  of  Casa  Guidi  is  a  me- 
morial tablet,  bearing  this  inscription  : 

"Here  wrote  and  died  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 
who  in  the  heart  of  a  woman  united  the  scholar's  learning 
and  the  poet's  genius,  and  made  with  her  verse  a  golden 
bond  between  Italy  and  England.  To  her  memory  grate- 
ful Florence  has  erected  this  tablet,  1861." 

Mrs.  Browning  is  beyond  controversy  the  greatest  English 
poetess.  Among  the  early  poems  which  she  afterwards 
omitted  from  her  collected  works  there  were  some  which 
gave  decided  proof  of  original  power.  As  her  experience 
grew  wider  and  deeper  through  study  and  suffering,  her 
poetic  genius  took  longer  and  bolder  flights.  Her  fully 
developed  powers  were  able  to  sustain  her  in  prolonged 
excursions,  which  passed  through  the  whole  range  of  human 
feeling  and  rose  from  earth  to  heaven.  Again  at  times  in 
the  brief  compass  of  a  sonnet  or  in  a  lyrical  poem  of  a  few 
pages  she  gave  utterance  to  a  truth  which  found  echo  and 
acceptance  in  the  hearts  of  all.  Into  her  poems  she  put  her 
heart  and  life.  She  said  herself,  "  Poetry  has  been  as  serious 
a  thing  to  me  as  life  itself;  and  life  has  been  a  very  serious 
thing.  I  never  mistook  pleasure  for  the  final  cause  of  poetry, 
nor  leisure  for  the  hour  of  the  poet.  I  have  done  my  work, 
so  far,  as  work,  as  the  completest  expression  of  my  personal 
being  to  which  I  could  attain."  Her  works,  skilfully  planned 
and  carefully  wrought  out  in  this  noble  spirit,  fully  establish 
her  the  noblest  female  poet  of  the  world.  Her  genius, 
working  in  every  effort  of  her  mind,  enabled  her  to  infuse 
passion  and  enthusiasm  into  an  otherwise  cumbrous  mass 
of  knowledge.  Her  soul,  refreshed  by  intercourse  with  the 
master  minds  of  all  ages,  rose  above  even  the  intensest 
physical  suffering  and  bodily  weakness,  to  give  new  utter- 
ance to  the  grand   truths  of  humanity,  and  to  cheer  her 


70  ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 

fellow-toilers  and  sufferers.  Though,  like  the  prophets  of 
old,  she  was  called  to  behold  with  clear  spiritual  vision  the 
woes  of  mankind,  she  had  also  faith  to  look  beyond  the 
present  struggle  to  the  ultimate  victory  of  righteousness  and 
to  look  above  to  the  Eternal  King,  who  giveth  his  followers 
strength  to  endure  hardship,  and  who  shall  award  the 
crown  to  him  that  overcometk. 


MRS.  II.  B.  STOWE. 


A      .      .' 


tz*: 


TT 


\^'  .  .  .  »  \* 


.  ■■  ■ ...  in    mmimmmmmmmm* 


V. 

MRS.  H.  B.  STOWE  AND  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN. 

IF  Mrs.  Stowe  should  ever  tell  the  world  just  how 
"  Uncle  Tom  "  came  to  be  written,  and  then  just  how- 
it  was  written,  she  would  give  us  a  story  almost  as  inter- 
esting as  a  chapter  of  the  work  itself.  A  "  little  bird  " 
once  whispered  in  my  ears  the  outline  of  the  story.  On 
a  certain  day,  thirty-two  years  ago,  in  the  month  of  June, 
Mrs.  Stowe  enjoyed  the  agreeable  experience  of  receiving 
a  letter  with  an  unexpected  check  for  money  in  it.  Few 
things  in  life  are  more  pleasing  than  this.  How  neatly 
the  little  document  lies  enclosed  in  the  folds  of  the  sheet, 
and  how  pleasantly  it  comes  fluttering  home  to  the  elated 
recipient !  It  is  minutely  inspected,  for  a  strange  check 
is  a  revelation.  Every  bank  has  its  own  style,  and  every 
great  house  adds  its  peculiar  mark.  What  character  in 
the  signature !  The  filling  up  is  in  a  clerkly  hand, 
acquired  at  school;  but  the  hand  that  put  its  magic 
scrawl  at  the  bottom  was,  it  may  be,  toughened  in  the 
rude  school  of  the  world,  where  it  had  many  a  fight  before 
it  proved  the  victor. 

The  check  which  Mrs.  Stowe  received  in  June,  1851, 
came  from  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  published  in  the 
city  of  Washington,  and  tradition  reports  it  to  have  been 
of  the  value  of  one  hundred  dollars.  The  letter  in  which 
it  was  enclosed  asked  her  to  write  as  much  of  a  story  as 
she  could  afford  for  the  money.  The  reader  is  probably 
aware  that,  thirty-one  years  ago,  a  hundred  dollars  accom- 
panying such  a  request  was  about  equivalent  to  a  thousand 
at  the  present  time.     It  was  reallv  a  respectable  sum  of 

(73) 


JT  m 9W  ». .  .  'J  ■  *  ,   •   w.^»  ■    ,.. .  >wji ^ ..    _m-*1 


74  MRS.  H.  B.  STOWE. 

money.  We  have  heard  that  it  looked  very  large  indeed 
to  the  modest  lady  who  then  received  it.  She  was  the 
wife  of  a  Professor  of  Divinity  in  Bowdoin  College,  and 
she  was  living  at  Brunswick  +he  seat  of  that  institution, 
a  village  about  thirty  miles  to  the  northeast  of  Portland 
in  Maine. 

Even  now  Maine  is  a  land  of  careful  economy;  but  at 
that  time  the  salaries  of  learned  professors  ranged  from 
six  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  fifteen  hundred  ;  and  few 
indeed  were  the  lucky  men  who  received  the  larger  sum. 

This  mother  added  something  to  the  family  income  by 
teaching  daily  a  class  of  eight  young  ladies.  Besides 
this,  she  did  with  her  own  hands  all  the  work  of  the 
household,  except  the  roughest  part,  which  was  performed, 
after  a  fashion,  by  a  girl  fresh  from  Ireland  who  could 
not  speak  the  English  language.  And  here  was  a  hundred 
dollar  check  in  the  house  !  It  was  bewildering.  Editors 
in  Washington  do  not  send  checks  to  remote  villages  in 
Maine  except  for  cause.  What  had  Mrs.  Stowe  done  that 
the  editor  of  the  National  Era,  a  paper  of  limited  circu- 
lation, should  distinguish  her  thus  ? 

She  had  published  a  volume  of  sketches  and  stories 
called  the  "  Mayflower,"  which  first  saw  the  light  in  1849, 
two  years  before.  She  had  been  a  writer  from  her  child- 
hood. During  her  young-lady  years  she  had  been  a 
member  in  Cincinnati  of  a  literary  society  called  the 
"  Semicolon  Club,"  for  which  she  had  written  a  great 
number  of  talcs  and  sketches  of  character.  These  pieces 
were  the  delight  of  the  club;  but  a  certain  degree  of 
literary  talent  is  so  common  among  New  England  girls, 
that  few  persons  seem  to  have  perceived  in  them  the 
promise  of  a  splendid  career.  Mrs.  Stowe  afterwards 
contributed  to  periodicals,  and  at  last,  the  best  of  her 
writings  having  been  published  in  the  "  Mayflower,"  she 
enjoyed  a  certain  celebrity  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean. 


MRS.  H.  B.  STOWE.  75 

The  volume  was  republished  immediately  in  London, 
where  it  found  appreciation.  There  are  many  things  in 
this  collection  of  stories  that  show  true  genius,  i.  e.,  a 
genuine  power  of  exhibiting  human  life  and  character. 
It  was  the  talent  displayed  in  the  "  Mayflower "  that 
prompted  Dr.  Bailey  to  send  his  well-timed  check  to  the 
village  of  Brunswick. 

The  National  Era  was  an  anti-slavery  paper,  chiefly 
noted  on  account  of  the  place  whence  it  was  issued.  It 
attacked  slavery  at  the  capital  of  the  United  States,  in 
the  District  of  Columbia,  where  slaves  were  lawfully  held, 
and  in  close  proximity  to  States  in  which  slavery  was  the 
ruling  interest.  It  had  little  influence  at  the  capital, 
where  indeed  a  good  many  of  the  people  were  scarcely 
aware  of  its  existence.  The  paper  seemed  protected  by 
its  insignificance,  and  it  is  interesting  now  to  remember 
the  almost  contemptuous  indifference  with  which  it  was 
regarded  by  the  ruling  spirits  at  Washington. 

Mrs.  Stowe,  as  it  chanced,  knew  something  about 
slavery  and  Southern  life.  While  living  in  and  near 
Cincinnati  she  occasionally  visited  her  pupils  at  their 
homes  in  Kentucky,  and  her  husband  had  frequently 
harbored  fugitives  in  his  house  and  assisted  them  on  their 
way  to  Canada.  She  had  heard  the  stories  of  these 
fugitives  from  their  own  lips.  The  Ohio  River,  close  to 
which  she  lived,  was  part  of  the  boundary  line  between 
North  and  South,  and  slavery  was  discussed  in  all  that 
region  with  the  peculiar  heat  and  intensity  which  distin- 
guish border  warfare.  In  this  heat  and  intensity  Mrs. 
Stowe  did  not  appear  to  share  in  the  least.  It  has  been 
frequently  observed  that  persons  who  have  the  faculty  of 
absorbing  and  reproducing  human  life  and  character  do 
not  appear  to  be  more  interested  in  watching  them  than 
others.  Charles  Dickens,  for  example,  would  look  upon 
a  scene  with  apparent  indifference,  make  no  record  of  it 


76  MRS.  n.  B.  STOWE. 

at  the  time,  and  yet  long  after  describe  it  with  the  exact 
ness  and  particularity  of  a  photograph. 

Mrs.  Stowe  was  a  quietly  observant  person  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ohio,  not  a  flaming  Abolitionist,  not  a  fiery 
partisan ;  having  a  real  and  strong  regard  for  the  good 
qualities  of  the  Southern  people  ;  fully  comprehending 
their  inherited  difficulties,  and  having  for  them  a  chari- 
table sympathy.  But  in  her  own  quiet  way  she  gradually 
absorbed  a  knowledge  of  the  whole  system  of  life  in  the 
Southern  States ;  its  good  and  its  evil,  its  tragedy  and  its 
comedy.  She  appears  to  have  done  this  without  particular 
effort,  and  even  without  knowing  that  she  had  done  it. 

Nor  is  it  probable  that,  when  she  sat  down  to  write 
something  for  her  hundred  dollar  check,  and  called  it 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  or  Life  Among  the  Lowly,"  she  had 
any  lofty  anticipations  concerning  her  work.  It  is 
altogether  likely — judging  from  the  way  great  things  are 
usually  done — that  her  principal  care  was  to  give  the 
editor  a  good  hundred  dollars'  worth  for  his  money.  She 
expected  to  finish  the  story  in  three  or  four  numbers. 
But  the  subject  fascinated  and  overpowered  her,  and  she 
was  drawn  on,  week  after  week,  cheered  now  and  then  by 
another  check,  by  the  warm  appreciation  of  the  editor, 
and  by  occasional  approving  letters  from  distant  readers. 

Few  literary  tasks  have  ever  been  executed  in  circum- 
stances so  little  favorable  to  composition.  She  was  at  the 
head  of  a  household,  with  narrow  means,  with  young 
children  clamorous  for  their  mother's  aid,  with  the 
inexorable  Monday  wash  to  superintend,  the  Saturday's 
baking  to  do,  the  semi-weekly  batch  of  bread  to  make, 
her  class  of  young  ladies  to  instruct,  company  to  entertain, 
garments  to  cut  out,  buttons  to  sew  on,  and  all  the  endless 
tasks  of  a  wife  and  mother.  Sometimes,  on  baking-day, 
she  would  light  the  fire  in  the  big  brick  oven,  and  think- 
ing to  gain  a  few  minutes  for  writing,  would  fly  to  her 


MRS.  H.  B.  STOWE.  77 

task  and  become  so  absorbed  by  it  as  to  forget  everything 
in  the  world  except  the  scene  she  was  describing.  She 
would  return  to  her  oven  to  find  it  as  cold  as  it  was  at 
midnight ;  not  a  spark  of  fire  left,  and  the  bread  risen 
and  running  over  the  trough.  But  she  kept  on  for  about 
eighteen  months  and  finished  the  work. 

It  is  not  true  that  she  had  to  seek  for  a  publisher, 
although  her  publisher  did  think  she  ought  to  have  stopped 
at  the  end  of  the  first  volume  and  thus  make  it  a  more 
salable  work.  Its  success  is  freshly  remembered.  Mrs. 
Stowe  realized  her  wild  dream  of  being  able  to  buy  from 
the  profits  of  the  work  "  a  new  silk  dress."  Within  two 
years  two  million  copies  of  the  work  had  been  sold,  and 
it  has  been  translated  into  every  cultivated  language.  If 
the  sacred  rights  of  authors  and  artists  were  duly  pro- 
tected by  international  law,  she  would  have  been  enriched 
by  this  one  work.  Many  other  persons  have  been  enriched 
by  it,  but  not  she,  the  gentle  and  great  woman  who 
created  it.  It  is  a  pleasure,  however,  to  know,  as  I  was 
assured  the  other  day  by  the  publisher,  that  "Uncle  Tom" 
still  has  an  average  sale  of  about  four  thousand  copies  a 
year. 


VI. 

MISS  ALCOTT. 

MISS  LOUISA  MAY  ALCOTT,  as  every  one  who 
has  read  u  Little  Women"  would  easily  believe,  is 
the  original  of  her  own  harum-scarum  "  Jo."  The  per- 
sonal appearance  of  her  heroine  corresponds  almost 
exactly  to  her  own  at  the  same  age.  Tall,  blue-eyed, 
endowed  with  the  thick  clustering  chestnut  "  mane," 
which  was  poor  Jo's  sole  pride,  she  was  doubtless  in  her 
teens  somewhat  angular  and  awkward,  although  at  the 
present  time  a  lady  of  fine  figure  and  carriage. 

Miss  Alcott  was  born  in  Germantown,  Pennsylvania, 
about  fifty  years  ago.  Two  years  after  her  birth  the 
family  moved  to  Boston,  where  her  father  established  a 
school,  which  soon  became  a  noted  one,  in  the  Temple 
Building,  near  the  Common.  Some  of  its  features,  among 
them  the  singular  rule  which  compelled  an  offending 
pupil  to  ferule  the  master,  are  described  in  the  pages  of 
"  Little  Men."  But  the  peculiarity  of  such  methods  was 
more  apparent  than  their  excellence,  and  the  school  soon 
declined  in  popularity,  partly  on  this  account,  and  still 
more  because  Mr.  Alcott  refused  to  deny  admission  to  a 
colored  student.  Scholar  after  scholar  left,  until  at  last 
his  only  remaining  pupils  were  a  little  colored  boy,  one 
white  boy,  his  daughter  Louisa,  then  between  six  and 
seven  years  old,  and  her  two  sisters,  the  Meg  and  Beth  of 
"  Little  Women."  At  last,  he  gave  up  the  struggle  and 
removed  to  Concord.  Shortly  afterward  he  went  to  the 
neighboring  town  of  Harvard,  where  he  and  some  friends 
tried  to  establish  a  religious  and  vegetarian  community, 

(78) 


MISS  LOUISE  M.  ALCOTT. 


MISS   ALCOTT.  81 

gome  what  after  the  pattern  of  Brook  Farm,  where  each 
was  to  do  his  fair  share  of  labor  for  the  common  good. 
It  failed,  of  course,  and  the  failure  furnished  the  material 
for  Miss  Alcott's  amusing  story,  entitled  "  Transcendental 
Wild  Oats." 

The  family  then  returned  to  Concord,  where  they  spent 
three  years  in  the  house  afterwards  occupied  by  Haw- 
thorne. It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Alcott  became 
acquainted  with  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  to  whom  she 
frequently  refers  in  her  works,  always  with  a  peculiar 
mingling  of  tenderness  and  reverence.  She  went  to 
school  for  some  time  with  his  children  in  their  father's 
barn,  and  she  draws  a  pleasant  picture  of  the  illustrious 
philosopher  taking  a  merry  company  of  young  folks, 
crowded  into  a  gayly  decorated  hay-wagon,  to  bathe, 
gather  berries,  or  picnic  at  Walden  Pond.  He  made  a 
delightful  play-fellow,  and  always  found  pleasant  nooks 
for  them  in  the  woods  and  meadows,  and  told  them 
wonderful  stories  of  the  woodland  pets  of  his  friend 
Thoreau,  upon  whose  shoulder  the  wild  birds  would  light 
fearlessly,  and  who  could  dip  his  hand  into  the  pond  and 
lift  it  out  with  a  shining  fish  lying  in  the  palm. 

When  she  grew  older  and  was  seized  by  the  "book- 
mania,"  as  she  calls  it,  she  used  to  haunt  his  library  and 
ask  him  to  recommend  to  her  books  to  read,  always 
inquiring  for  something  new  and  very  interesting,  and 
seldom  failing,  through  his  patient  help,  to  find  it.  Some- 
times, when  she  wished  to  try  something  far  above  her 
girlish  comprehension,  lie  would  advise  her  to  wait  awhile 
for  that,  and  offer  something  else  to  take  its  place. 

"  For  many  of  these  wise  books,"  she  adds,  "  I  am  wait- 
ing still,  very  patiently,  because  in  his  own  I  have  found 
the  truest  delight,  the  best  inspiration  of  my  life." 

She  tells,  too,  with  humorous  relish,  a  characteristic 
anecdote  of  her  kind  and  great  friend,  whose  books,  on 


82  MISS   ALCOTT. 

the  occasion  of  his  house  taking  fire,  were  thrown 
unceremoniously  out  of  the  window  into  the  yard. 

"  As  I  stood  guarding  the  scorched,  wet  pile,"  she  says, 
"  Mr.  Emerson  passed  by,  and  surveying  the  devastation 
with  philosophical  calmness,  only  said  in  answer  to  my 
lamentations,  'I  see  my  library  under  a  new  aspect. 
Could  you  tell  me  where  my  good  neighbors  have  flung 
my  boots  ? ' " 

It  was  in  Concord,  in  a  pretty  summer-house  which 
Mr.  Alcott  had  built  for  his  daughters  near  a  brook,  that 
Miss  Alcott  first  tried  composing  stories,  but  only  to 
amuse  her  sisters  and  friends.  When  she  was  sixteen 
they  all  went  back  to  Boston  to  live,  and  there  she  began 
to  teach  school.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  occupation  to  her, 
and,  ere  long,  she  ventured  to  offer  a  story  to  a  Boston 
newspaper.  She  has  herself  related,  in  an  interesting 
letter  to  the  Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  how  it  fared  with 
her  in  her  early  attempts  to  write  for  publication. 

"  I  still  have,"  she  wrote,  "  a  very  vivid  recollection  of 
the  mingled  hope  and  fear  with  which  I  sent  my  second 
story  to  try  its  fate  in  a  newspaper.  My  first  appeared 
in  Ballou's  Pictorial  Museum,  and  the  five  dollars  paid 
for  it  was  the  most  welcome  money  I  ever  earned. 
'The  Rival  Prima  Donnas'  fared  still  better,  for  it 
brought  me  ten  dollars  and  a  request  for  more ;  at 
which  delightful  news  the  heart  of  the  young  authoress 
sang  for  joy  :  and  she  set  bravely  forth  along  the  literary 
lane,  which  for  twenty  years  showed  no  sign  of  turning. 

"  I  always  considered  this  tale  a  very  successful  one, 
not  only  because  it  was  so  hospitably  received,  but 
because  when  dramatized,  at  a  hint  from  the  kind  friend 
who  said  a  good  word  for  me,  both  to  editor  and  manager, 
it  was  accepted  by  Mr.  Barry  of  the  Boston  Theatre. 
The  ladies  who  were  to  play  the  prima  donnas  were 
actually  rivals  on  the  stage,  and  between  the  two  the 


MISS   ALCOTT.  83 

poor  play  fared  ill.  But  I  gladly  added  and  altered,  and 
felt  quite  satisfied  in  spite  of  the  delay ;  for  a  free  pass 
was  given  me,  and  I  went  forty  times  to  the  theatre  that 
winter.  Rich  treat  to  a  stage-struck  girl;  though  the 
play  never  came  out,  and  was  wisely  given  to  the  flames 
at  last,  to  the  great  relief  of  all  parties." 

"  Other  stories  followed  this  fortunate  one ;  and,  after 
a  first  timid  call  at  the  office,  I  was  emboldened  by  my 
kind  reception  to  go  often,  and  soon  went  peddling  my 
wares  in  other  places,  but  never  with  equal  success  in  the 
courteous  treatment  and  prompt  payment  which  is  so 
welcome  to  the  soul  of  the  bashful  yet  ambitious  beginner. 

"  One  of  the  memorable  moments  of  my  life  is  that  in 
which,  as  I  trudged  to  my  little  school  on  a  wintry  day, 
my  eyes  fell  upon  a  large  yellow  poster  with  these 
delicious  words :  '  Bertha,'  a  new  tale,  by  the  author  of 
'The  Rival  Prima  Donnas,'  will  appear  in  the  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette.  I  was  late  ;  it  was  bitter  cold  ;  people 
jostled  me ;  I  was  mortally  afraid  I  should  be  recognized ; 
but  there  I  stood,  feasting  my  eyes  on  the  fascinating 
pester,  and  saying  proudly  to  myself,  in  the  words  of  the 
great  Vincent  Crummies,  '  This,  this  is  fame ! '  That 
day  my  pupils  had  an  indulgent  teacher ;  for,  while  they 
struggled  with  their  pot-hooks,  I  was  writing  immortal 
works ;  and,  when  they  droned  out  the  multiplication 
table,  I  was  counting  up  the  noble  fortune  my  pen  was  to 
earn  for  me  in  the  dim,  delightf ul  future.  That  afternoon 
my  sisters  made  a  pilgrimage  to  behold  this  famous 
placard,  and,  finding  it  torn  by  the  wind,  boldly  stole  it, 
and  came  home  to  wave  it  like  a  triumphal  banner  in  the 
bosom  of  the  excited  family.  The  tattered  paper  still 
exists,  folded  away  with  other  relics  of  those  early  days, 
so  hard  and  yet  so  sweet,  when  the  first  small  victories 
were  won,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  lent  romance 
to  life's  drudgery. 


84 


MISS   ALCOTT. 


"  A  dozen  or  more  of  these  stories  were  written  during 
those  winters  when  I  first  set  out  to  seek  my  fortune, 
which  began  with  twenty  dollars  from  the  good  old 
Gazette. 

"  With  what  eagerness  did  I  unfold  that  generous 
sheet,  and  read  aloud  these  foolish  tales  to  my  partial 
audience,  who  all  predicted  a  future  which  would  eclipse 
the  fame  of  Shakspeare,  Scott,  and  Dickens !  Only  those 
who  have  known  this  experience  can  understand  the 
intense  satisfaction  one  feels  on  seeing  his  first  literary 
efforts  actually  in  print,  and  the  sheet  in  which  they 
appear  always  finds  a  warm  place  in  the  heart  of  the 
grateful  scribbler.  For  to  no  other  work  ever  goes  so 
much  love  and  labor,  hope  and  fear,  as  to  these  faulty 
darlings,  whom  we  secretly  cherish  long  after  we  are 
heartily  ashamed  of  them. 

"  This  training  in  the  production  of  short  dramatic 
stories  proved  very  useful  in  after  years,  when  orders  for 
tales  of  certain  lengths  were  plentiful ;  and  a  dozen  a 
month  were  easily  turned  off,  and  well  paid  for,  especially 
while  a  certain  ettitor  labored  under  the  delusion  that  the 
writer  was  a  man.  The  moment  the  truth  was  known 
the  price  was  lowered ;  but  the  girl  had  learned  the  worth 
of  her  wares,  and  would  not  write  for  less,  so  continued 
to  earn  her  fair  wages  in  spite  of  sex." 

Miss  Alcott  urges  ladies  who  write  for  publication,  not 
to  submit  to  injustice  of  this  kind,  and  to  inform  them- 
selves as  to  their  rights.     She  says  : 

"Now  that  women  have  made  a  place  for  themselves  in 
journalism  and  literature,  it  is  wise  for  them  to  cultivate, 
not  only  their  intellectual  faculties,  but  their  practical 
ones  also,  and  understand  the  business  details  of  their 
craft.  The  ignorance  and  helplessness  of  women  writers 
is  amazing,  and  only  disastrous  experience  teaches  them 
what  they  should  have  learned  before.     The  brains  that 


MISS    ALCOTT.  85 

can  earn  money  in  this  way  can  understand  how  to  take 
care  of  it  by  a  proper  knowledge  of  contracts,  copyrights, 
and  the  duties  of  publisher  and  author  toward  one 
another.  Then  there  will  be  less  complaint  on  both  sides, 
and  fair  play  for  those  who  win,  not  only  admiration  for 
their  work,  but  respect  for  their  wisdom  in  the  affairs  of 
their  trade." 

It  is  the  earlier  portion  of  her  literary  career  that  Miss 
Alcott  describes  so  amusingly  in  "  Little  Women."  I 
wish  my  own  knowledge  enabled  me  to  say  exactly  what 
passages  of  that  popular  work  may  be  accepted  as  accu- 
rate pictures  of  real  events.  I  should  deem  it  a  privilege 
could  I  but  vouch  for  the  reality  of  the  top-boots  and  tin 
money,  those  twin  glories  of  the  drama  in  the  March 
household,  or  state  upon  good  authority  that  Jo's  first 
visit  to  the  "  Spread  Eagle  "  office  was  Miss  Alcott's  own 
experience.  It  is  not  my  fortune,  however,  to  know  just 
where  fact  ends  and  fiction  begins,  although  I  think  that 
I  could  guess  and  come  very  near  the  mark.  But,  as 
most  of  Miss  Alcott's  readers  have  probably  the  same 
feeling,  it  is  perhaps  better  that  all  should  be  left  free  to 
believe  just  what  they  prefer,  and  cherish  undisturbed 
a  harmless  pride  in  their  own  discernment. 

The  amusing  feminine  Pickwick  Club,  at  least,  we  are 
at  liberty  to  believe  in,  since  Miss  Alcott  herself,  after 
giving  at  length  the  Pickwick  Portfolio,  says  that  it  is  "a 
bona-fide  copy  of  one  written  by  bona-fidc  girls  once  upon 
a  time."  The  benevolent  Pickwick,  the  accomplished 
Winkle,  the  plump  Tupman,  and  the  poetical  Snodgrass 
were  doubtless  enacted  with  great  spirit  by  the  four 
merry  sisters,  and  their  paper,  as  given  by  its  former 
editor,  is  certainly  attractive  reading. 

The  blast  of  war  sounded  in  the  ears  of  this  young 
writer,  the  child  of  an  enthusiast.  She  was  one  of  the 
women  in  New  England  who  volunteered  for  service  in 


86  MISS   ALCOTT. 

the  military  hospitals  during  the  late  war.  She  was 
promptly  at  her  work,  and  in  circumstances  that  would 
soon  have  discouraged  her  if  the  impulse  which  brought 
her  thither  had  been  but  a  romantic  fancy.  She  had 
charge  at  first,  all  inexperienced  as  she  was,  of  a  ward 
containing  forty  beds,  where  she  spent  her  days,  as  she 
remarks,  in  "  washing  faces,  serving  rations,  giving  medi- 
cine, and  sitting  in  a  very  hard  chair,  with  pneumonia  on 
one  side,  diphtheria  on  the  other,  two  typhoids  opposite, 
and  a  dozen  dilapidated  patriots  hopping,  lying,  and 
lounging  about,  all  staring  more  or  less  at  the  new 
'Nuss'." 

What  a  change  from  the  tranquil  life  of  a  New  England 
home !  She  almost  desired  the  arrival  of  wounded  men, 
since  unhappily  there  were  such,  for  there  was  nothing 
heroic  in  rheumatism  or  liver  complaint. 

The  wounded  men  came  all  too  soon. 

In  the  gray  of  early  morning,  but  three  days  after  her 
arrival,  she  was  roused  by  a  hurried  knock  at  her  door, 
and  an  excited  black  contraband  of  six  years  thrust  in  his 
woolly  head  and  told  her  that  forty  ambulances,  filled 
with  the  wounded  from  Fredericksburg,  were  at  the  door, 
and  the  matron  required  her  help  at  once. 

She  hastened  down,  and  was  greeted  as  she  descended 
by  dreadful  odors,  which  she  was  told  would  thenceforth 
pervade  the  place,  since  there  was  no  way  to  get  rid  of 
them.  On  reaching  the  large  hall,  she  found  numbers  of 
soldiers  lying  about  on  the  floor  or  seated  with  their  backs 
against  the  wall,  while  more  were  continually  arriving, 
some  staggering  in  supported  upon  rude  crutches,  others 
borne  upon  stretchers  or  carried  in  men's  arms.  Nurses, 
surgeons,  and  attendants  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and 
the  scene  was  one  of  horror  and  confusion.  She  remained 
a  moment,  dazed  with  wonder  and  compassion,  looking 
on,  and  then  repaired  to  her  ward  to  receive  orders  from 


MISS   ALCOTT.  87 

the  matron.  They  were  brief  and  to  the  point ;  all  her 
patients  were  to  be  washed  and  put  to  bed  as  quickly  as 
possible. 

These  directions,  although  simple,  did  not  appear  to 
the  new  nurse  very  easy  to  follow,  but  sensibly  resolving 
to  put  away  her  scruples,  and  do  as  much  good  as  she 
could,  she  took  her  basin  and  towels  and  approached  the 
nearest  sufferer.  He  was  an  old  Irishman,  wounded  in 
the  head,  and  was  at  once  so  brave,  so  grateful,  and  so 
funny,  that  her  task  did  not  seem  difficult.  Most  of  the 
men  were  at  first  far  too  exhausted  and  sleepy  to  talk, 
and  merely  dozed  wherever  they  chanced  to  drop  down 
until  the  smell  of  food  aroused  them.  But  after  receiving 
their  rations  many  became  quite  communicative,  and  the 
new  nurse,  eager  for  news,  received  numerous  graphic 
accounts  of  the  battle,  some  fierce  and  brief,  some  spiced 
with  genuine  Yankee  humor,  as  she  passed  from  one  bed 
to  another,  bathing,  bandaging,  and  feeding  her  way  down 
the  long  aisle. 

The  courage  with  which  the  wounded  men  endured 
their  sufferings,  Miss  Alcott  describes  as  something  mar- 
velous. Rarely  did  a  cry  or  a  groan  escape  their  lips, 
although  during  the  painful  examination  and  dressing 
of  neglected  wounds  that  day,  there  was  no  ether  used, 
the  doctors  considering  it  unnecessary  because  the  ampu- 
tations were  deferred  until  the  morrow.  One  or  two 
irrepressible  Irishmen  swore  at  the  surgeons  or  called 
upon  the  Virgin,  "  but  as  a  general  thing  the  work  went 
on  in  silence,  broken  only  by  some  quiet  request  for 
instruments  or  plaster,  a  sigh  from  the  patient,  or  a 
sympathizing  murmur  from  the  nurse." 

The  hospital  in  which  Miss  Alcott  served,  and  which 
she  has  exhibited  to  the  public  under  the  expressive  title 
of  "  Hurlyburly  House,"  had  been  a  hotel  before  the  war, 
and  was  by  no  means  well-suited  for  the  purpose  to  which 

G 


88  MISS   ALCOTT. 

it  "was  afterwards  put.  The  arrangement  of  the  wards 
was  inconvenient,  and  there  were  no  proper  quarters  for 
the  nurses  and  attendants.  Her  own  room,  which  she 
shared  with  another  lady,  the  day-nurse  of  the  ward,  was 
a  small,  uncarpeted  apartment  in  the  fourth  story,  with 
a  window  every  pane  of  which  was  cracked,  a  fireplace 
possessing  neither  tongs  nor  shovel,  and  a  miserable 
closet  infested  by  rats  and  black  bugs.  Its  furniture 
consisted  of  two  iron  bedsteads  provided  with  unpleas- 
antly meager  mattresses,  two  trunks,  two  tables,  two 
chairs,  a  tiny  mirror,  a  tin  basin,  a  blue  pitcher,  and  a 
pair  of  yellow  mugs.  The  walls  were  whitewashed,  and 
the  windows  were  draped  with  sheets. 

Her  fare  was  in  accordance  with  these  surroundings. 
It  rarely  varied,  and  it  was  not  good.  Moreover,  she  did 
not  have  enough  of  it,  since  if  she  did  not  appear 
promptly  at  table  she  found  nothing  left  there  for  her  to 
eat,  and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be  punctual  with 
so  many  sick  men  demanding  her  attention.  The  attend- 
ants, too,  were  convalescents,  and  were  not  physically 
able  to  cope  with  the  tasks  assigned  them,  so  that  to 
spare  them  she  did  the  work  of  at  least  three  persons. 
Under  such  circumstances  it  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered 
at  that  her  health  broke  down  and  her  hospital  experiences 
terminated  in  a  dangerous  attack  of  typhoid  fever. 

Her  struggle  with  the  disease  was  protracted  and 
severe,  and  although,  thanks  to  an  originally  fine  consti- 
tution, she  at  last  recovered,  she  lost  her  beautiful  hair, 
and  has  never  since  been  the  strong  and  healthy  woman 
she  was  before  she  enlisted  as  a  nurse. 

The  "Hospital  Sketches,"  in  which  she  describes  the 
scenes  among  which  she  labored,  first  appeared  separately 
in  a  Boston  paper,  and  were  afterwards  gathered  together 
into  a  volume.  They  were  her  first  great  literary  success. 
Issued  at  a  time  when  the  public  was  hungry  for  every 


MISS   ALCOTT.  89 

scrap  of  news  from  camp  or  hospital,  these  articles, 
hasty,  faulty,  often  extravagant  in  fancy  and  diction,  but 
yet  written  in  the  spirit  of  patriotism  and  with  an 
honest  desire  to  tell  the  truth,  were  read  with  passionate 
interest. 

Five  years  later,  she  gained  her  second  popular  triumph : 
she  published  "  Little  Women."  This  story  —  for  novel 
it  was  not  —  was  at  once  received  into  wide  favor,  and  is 
still  pre-eminently  the  book  of  the  American  girl.  Its 
charm  lies  in  the  reality  of  its  incidents,  the  bright 
every-day  character  of  its  four  heroines  and  their  friends, 
and  the  breezy  spirit  with  which  the  simple  narrative  is 
given.  An  ill-natured  critic  might  descant  upon  the 
occasional  hasty  workmanship,  but  the  best  answer  to  all 
carping  is  the  unflagging  interest  with  which  our  young 
ladies  still  discuss  the  question,  whether  or  not  Jo  should 
have  married  Laurie.  Most  of  them,  it  may  be  added, 
think  she  should;  indeed, the  amiable  Bhaer  has  scarcely 
met  with  the  favor  he  deserves. 

Miss  Alcott  is  a  busy  and  voluminous  writer.  Her 
"  Eight  Cousins,"  "  Rose  in  Bloom,"  "  Under  the  Lilacs," 
"Old-fashioned  Girl,"  "Jack  and  Jill,"  together  with 
"Aunt  Jo's  Scrap-Bag  Series,"  and  several  volumes  of 
short  stories,  are  now  established  favorites,  and  a  new 
story  appearing  above  her  signature  in  one  of  the  maga- 
zines creates  a  pleasant  stir  among  the  younger  members 
of  many  households,  and  in  some  of  the  older  ones,  too. 
Several  hundred  thousand  copies  of  her  works  have  been 
sold  in  America,  and  nearly  as  many  more  in  England 
and  other  European  countries.  A  translation  of  "  Little 
Women"  was  published  not  long  ago  in  a  children's 
magazine  in  Paris,  under  the  title  of  Les  Quatre  Filles 
du  Docteur  Marsch  (The  Four  Daughters  of  Dr.  March). 
It  included,  however, only  the  first  volume,  with  an  added 
chapter  in  which  the  interesting  sisters  are  suitably  pro- 


90  MISS   ALCOTT. 

vided  with  husbands  according  to  the  pleasure  of  the 
translator,  who  owns  to  never  having  seen  the  second 
volume.  The  eminently  respectable  Bhaer,  therefore, 
does  not  appear,  and  Jo  and  Laurie  are  comfortably 
established  upon  a  farm  in  wedded  happiness. 

The  home  of  Miss  Alcott  in  Concord,  Massachusetts,  is 
an  object  of  interest  to  visitors.  It  is  described  in  one  of 
the  letters  of  Lydia  Maria  Child,  written  in  1876 : 

"  The  house  of  the  Alcotts  took  my  fancy  greatly. 
When  they  bought  the  place  the  house  was  so  very  old, 
that  it  was  thrown  into  the  bargain  with  the  supposition 
that  it  was  fit  for  nothing  but  fire-wood.  But  Mr.  Alcott 
has  an  architectural  taste  more  intelligible  than  his 
Orphic  sayings.  He  let  every  old  rafter  and  beam  stay 
in  its  place,  changed  old  ovens  and  ash-holes  into  Saxon 
arched  alcoves,  and  added  a  wash-woman's  old  shanty  to 
the  rear.  The  result  is  a  house  full  of  queer  nooks  and 
corners  and  all  manner  of  juttings  in  and  out.  It  seems 
as  if  the  spirit  of  some  old  architect  had  brought  it  from 
the  Middle  Ages  and  dropped  it  down  in  Concord,  pre- 
serving much  better  resemblance  to  the  place  whence  it 
was  brought  than  does  the  Virgin  Mary's  house,  which 
the  angel  carried  from  Bethlehem  to  Loretto.  The 
capable  Alcott  daughters  painted  and  papered  the  inte- 
rior themselves.  And  gradually  the  artist  daughter  filled 
up  all  the  nooks  and  corners  with  panels  on  which  she 
had  painted  birds  or  flowers,  and  over  the  open  fire-places 
she  painted  mottoes  in  ancient  English  characters.  Owls 
blink  at  you  and  faces  peep  from  the  most  unexpected 
places.  The  whole  leaves  a  general  impression  of  har- 
mony of  a  mediaeval  sort,  though  different  parts  of  the 
house  seem  to  have  stopped  in  a  dance  that  became  con- 
fused because  some  of  the  party  did  not  keep  time.  The 
walls  are  covered  with  choice  engravings  and  paintings 
by  the  artist  daughter.     She  really  is  an  artist." 


VII. 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 

THE  illustrious  author  of  Adam  Bede  and   Middle- 
march    was    born    November    22,   1819,  at  South 
Farm,  in  the  parish  of  Coiton,  Warwickshire. 

To  this  county,  the  birthplace  of  the  greatest  man 
who  ever  wrote,  and  of  the  greatest  woman  who  ever 
wrote,  we  might  well  apply  the  words  of  Charlotte 
Bronte  when  she  speaks  of  her  heroine  as  having  been 
reared  in  "  the  healthy  heart  of  England  "  "Warwick- 
shire is  a  small  county  in  the  center  of  the  island, 
hemmed  in  by  such  English  shires  as  Oxford,  Leicester, 
and  Stafford ;  but  whatever  in  England  is  most  English 
whether  men,  nature,  towns,  homes,  traditions,  relics, 
usages  ;  whether  we  seek  the  England  of  romance,  the 
England  of  history,  or  the  England  of  industry,  we  find 
it  in  Warwickshire.  Birmingham  is  there,  but  Kenil- 
worth  also.  There  are  Warwick  Castle,  and  Alcester, 
the  seat  of  the  needle  manufacture.  Dr.  Arnold's  Rugby 
is  there.  It  is  a  land  of  ancient  forest  and  broad  mead- 
ows, where  the  beeves  of  Justice  Shallow  fattened. 
Rosalind  wandered  in  its  forest  of  Arden.  and  melan- 
choly Jaques  soliloquized,  and  one  of  his  merry  com- 
panions sang: 

'■  Under  the  greenwood  tree 

"Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 

And  tune  his  merry  note 

Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 

Here  shall  he  see 

Xo  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

(91) 


92  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

Above  all  other  distinctions,  this  is  the  county  of  the 
softly-flowing  Avon,  and  of  that  Stratford  which  is  upon 
it,  and  of  Shakespeare  who  was  born  there. 

Near  one  of  the  towns  of  this  county,  a  railroad 
junction  now,  called  Nuneaton,  an  obscure  country  place 
then,  containing  an  ancient  Gothic  church,  an  ancient 
grammar-school,  and  the  ruins  of  an  abbey  connecting 
it  with  the  life  and  sentiment  of  the  Middle  Ages,  was 
born  the  writer  nearest  akin  to  Shakespeare  in  the 
qualities  of  her  mind,  Mary  Anne  Evans,  who  gave  herself 
the  name  of  George  Eliot.  I  prefer  the  name  by  which 
she  was  known  in  her  father's  house ;  and  the  more,  as 
she  assumed  the  masculine  appellative  merely  to  serve  a 
transient  convenience.  She  was  a  plain  English  country 
lass,  a  carpenter's  daughter,  whose  father  called  her  his 
"  Little  Wench,"  and  one  of  whose  hands  remained 
larger  than  the  other  to  her  dying  day  from  making  and 
shaping  with  it  so  many  pounds  and  pats  of  butter. 
She  was  the  youngest  of  the  children  of  Robert  Evans, 
who  was  twice  married,  and  who  had  by  the  first  mar- 
riage two  children,  and  by  the  second  three. 

This  stalwart  and  right  worthy  Robert  Evans  began 
his  active  life,  like  Adam  Bede,  as  a  carpenter,  rising  in 
due  time  to  master  carpenter,  becoming  afterwards  for- 
ester, land-surveyor,  land-agent,  steward  of  estates,  hold- 
ing positions  similar  to  those  which  his  gifted  daughter 
afterwards  assigned  to  Caleb  Garth,  one  of  the  noblest 
of  her  creations.  Although  Caleb  Garth  was  by  no 
means  intended  for  an  exact  delineation  of  her  father, 
we  know  that  his  most  prominent  characteristics,  nota- 
bly his  veneration  for  "  business,"  and  his  instinct  to 
perform  all  tasks  thoroughly,  were  marked  traits  of 
Robert  Evans.  It  would  be  difficult,  after  reading 
Middlemarch,  for  us  to  think  otherwise  of  him  than  that, 
like  Caleb, 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  93 

"He  thought  very  well  of  all  ranks,  but  would  not 
himself  have  liked  to  be  of  any  rank  in  which  he  had  no\> 
such  close  contact  with  '  business '  as  to  get  often  honora- 
bly decorated  with  marks  of  dust  and  mortar,  the  damp 
of  the  engine,  or  the  sweet  soil  of  the  woods  and  fields. 
Though  he  had  never  regarded  himself  as  other  than  an, 
orthodox  Christian,  and  would  argue  on  prevenient  grace 
if  the  subject  were  proposed  to  him,  I  think  his  virtual 
divinities  were  good  practical  schemes,  accurate  work, 
and  the  faithful  completion  of  undertakings ;  his  prince 
of  darkness  was  a  slack  workman." 

The  mother  of  the  authoress  was  chiefly  noted  for  her 
qualities  as  a  vigorous  and  punctual  housekeeper.  Miss 
Mathilde  Blind  describes  her  as  much  resembling  Mrs. 
Hackit  in  Amos  Barton,  "  a  thin  woman  with  a  chronic 
liver  complaint,  of  indefatigable  industry  and  epigram- 
matic speech  ;  who,  '  in  the  utmost  enjoyment  of  spoiling 
a  friend's  self-satisfaction,  was  never  known  to  spoil  a 
stocking.'  A  notable  housewife,  whose  clock-work  regu- 
larity in  all  domestic  affairs  was  such  that  all  her  farm 
work  was  done  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  she 
would  sit  down  to  her  loom." 

Of  the  special  incidents  of  the  childhood  of  Mary  Anne 
Evans  we  know  little ;  but  many  of  the  experiences  of 
Tom  and  Maggie  Tulliver  are  drawn  from  her  own  early 
life,  and  the  sonnets  entitled  Brother  and  Sister  are  still 
more  plainly  autobiographical.  Her  early  wanderings 
with  her  brother  through  the  lovely  country  scenes  about 
Nuneaton  were  always  cherished  as  among  the  dearest 
memories  of  her  life  ;  indeed,  she  tells  us  they 
"  Were  seed  to  all  my  after  good. 

My  infant  gladness  through  eye,  ear,  and  touch, 
Took  easily  as  warmth  a  various  food 

To  nourish  the  sweet  skill  of  loving  much." 

Many  of  the  scenes  with  which  she  then  became  famil- 
iar were  reproduced  with  the  most  perfect  fidelity  in  her 


94  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

novels.  The  Red  Deeps  which  figure  so  prominently  in 
the  Mill  on  the  Floss  were  a  favorite  resort  of  hers  close 
to  her  own  home.  Cheveril  Manor,  so  beautifully 
depicted  in  Mr.  Gilfil's  Love  Story,  was  Arbury  Hall,  the 
seat  of  the  Newdegate  family,  her  father's  early  employ- 
ers. Knebley,  described  in  the  same  story,  was  Astley 
Church.  The  Shepperton  of  Amos  Barton  was  Chilvers 
Coton,  and  Milby,  in  Janet's  Repentance,  was  Nuneaton 
itself. 

When  Miss  Evans  was  fifteen  her  mother  died,  and  the 
family  removed  to  Foleshill,  near  Coventry,  where  she 
remained  until  the  death  of  her  father  in  1849.  Her 
education  had  been  commenced  at  Nuneaton  under  the 
charge  of  Mrs.  Wallingford,  an  excellent  teacher,  to 
whom  she  probably  owed  much  of  her  beauty  of  intona- 
tion in  reading  poetry.  It  was  continued  at  Coventry ., 
where  she  received  instruction  from  Miss  Franklin,  a 
lady  of  whom  she  always  spoke  with  deep  gratitude  and 
respect,  and  from  Mr.  Sheepshanks,  the  head-master  of 
the  grammar-school,  who  taught  her  Greek  and  Latin. 
She  also  received  lessons  in  French,  German,  and  Italian, 
and  acquired  through  her  own  unaided  efforts  a  consid- 
erable knowledge  of  Hebrew,  and  studied  music,  of  which 
she  was  passionately  fond,  with  the  organist  of  a  neigh- 
boring church.  Later  in  life  she  played  well  upon  the 
piano. 

It  is  a  satisfaction  to  be  assured  by  her  biographer 
that  her  education  was  not  merely  an  affair  of  the  brain. 
Her  hands  acquired  skill,  and  she  learned  in  early  life 
the  priceless  art  of  laboring  with  patient  cheerfulness  at 
homely  tasks.     Miss  Blind  tells  us,  that, 

"  For  some  years  after  her  mother's  death,  Miss  Evans 
and  her  father  remained  alone  together  at  Griff  House. 
He  offered  to  get  a  housekeeper,  as  not  the  house  only, 
but  farm  matters,  had  to  be  looked  after,  and  he  was 


GEORGE    ELIOT.  95 

always  tenderly  considerate  of  '  the  little  wench,'  as  he 
called  her.  But  his  daughter  preferred  taking  the  whole 
management  of  the  place  into  her  own  hands,  and  she 
was  as  conscientious  and  diligent  in  the  discharge  of  her 
domestic  duties  as  in  the  prosecution  of  the  studies  she 
carried  on  at  the  same  time.  One  of  her  chief  beauties 
was  in  her  large,  finely  shaped,  feminine  hands — hands 
which  she  has,  indeed,  described  as  characteristic  of 
several  of  her  heroines ;  but  she  once  pointed  out  to  a 
friend  at  Poleshill  that  one  of  them  was  broader  across 
than  the  other,  saying,  with  some  pride,  that  it  was  due 
to  the  quantity  of  butter  and  cheese  she  had  made  during 
her  housekeeping  days  at  Griff." 

Her  appearance  at  this  time  is  thus  described : 
"  She  had  a  quantity  of  soft  pale-brown  hair,  worn  in 
ringlets.  Her  head  was  massive,  her  features  powerful 
and  rugged,  her  mouth  large,  but  shapely,  the  jaw  singu- 
larly square  for  a  woman,  yet  having  a  certain  delicacy 
of  outline.  A  neutral  tone  of  coloring  did  not  help  to 
relieve  this  general  heaviness  of  structure,  the  complex- 
ion being  pale,  but  not  fair.  Nevertheless,  the  play  of 
expression  and  the  wTonderful  mobility  of  the  mouth, 
which  increased  with  age,  gave  a  womanly  softness  to 
the  countenance  in  curious  contrast  with  its  framework. 
Her  eyes,  of  a  gray  blue,  constantly  varying  in  color, 
striking  some  as  intensely  blue,  others  as  of  a  pale, 
washed-out  gray,  were  small  and  not  beautiful  in  them- 
selves,- but,  when  she  grew  animated  in  conversation, 
those  eyes  lit  up  the  whole  face,  seeming  in  a  manner  to 
transfigure  it.  So  much  was  this  the  case  that  a  young 
lady,  who  had  once  enjoyed  an  hour's  conversation  with 
her,  came  away  under  its  spell  with  the  impression  that 
she  was  beautiful,  but  afterward,  on  seeing  George  Eliot 
again  when  she  was  not  talking,  she  could  hardly  believe 
her  to  be  the  same  person.     The  charm  of  her  nature  dis- 


96  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

closed  itself  in  her  manner  and  in  her  voice,  the  latter 
recalling  that  of  Dorothea,  in  being  like  the  voice  of  a 
soul  that  has  once  lived  in  an  ./Eolian  harp.  It  was  low 
and  deep,  vibrating  with  sympathy." 

At  this  period  of  her  life,  she  was  known  among  the 
residents  of  the  vicinity  as  a  quiet  and  retiring  young 
lady  of  unusual  learning,  who  was  also  an  excellent 
housekeeper  for  her  father.  Her  ability  in  conversation 
was  also  recognized,  for,  although  she  did  not  talk  much, 
she  never  failed  to  say  something  worth  hearing  when 
she  spoke,  whether  discussing  profound  topics  of  science 
or  politics,  or  the  simple  affairs  of  her  neighbors,  in  which 
she  took  an  unaffected  interest. 

Among  the  more  intimate  friends  whom  she  made  at 
Coventry  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bray,  of  Rosehill,  and  at 
their  house  she  met  many  distinguished  people,  all  of 
whom  soon  learned  to  listen  with  attention  and  respect 
when  she  joined  in  the  conversation.  Sometimes  it  was 
very  amusing  to  observe  the  astonishment  displayed  by 
authors  and  scientists  who  met  her  for  the  first  time, 
when  some  incidental  remark  betrayed  her  unexpected 
knowledge  of  profound  subjects.  Upon  one  occasion 
an  eminent  doctor,  venturing  to  quote  Epictetus  in  the 
presence  of  this  pale,  gray-eyed,  pensive  young  lady,  was 
dazed  at  having  her  turn  towards  him  and  promptly, 
although  with  the  utmost  modesty  and  politeness,  correct 
him  in  his  Greek. 

It  was  at  Rosehill,  too,  that  she  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Emerson,  of  whose  essays  she  had  been  a  frequent  and 
appreciative  reader.  They  had  talked  together  but  a 
short  time  when  Emerson  asked  abruptly : 

"  What  one  book  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Rousseau's  Confessions,"  she  replied  without  hesita- 
tion. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  he  with  a  start  of  pleased  surprise. 
"  There  is  a  point  of  sympathy  between  us." 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  97 

He  had  the  pleasure  of  visiting  Stratford  »in  her  com- 
pany and  that  of  the  Brays,  going,  as  he  said,  "  to  see 
Shakespeare."  Later  they  met  again  in  London,  where 
she  played  for  him  upon  the  piano,  being  unaware  that 
his  ear  was  what  he  described  as  "  marble  to  such  music." 
The  impression  which  she  retained  of  him  was  in  every 
way  agreeable,  while  he  expressed  his  opinion  of  her  to 
Mr.  Charles  Bray  in  these  words  : 

"  That  young  lady  has  a  calm,  serious  soul !  " 

Miss  Evans'  first  literary  work  was  a  translation  of 
Strauss's  Life  of  Jesus,  undertaken  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Charles  Hennell,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Bray.  This  work  had 
been  first  entrusted  to  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  engaged. 
She  had  accomplished  about  a  fourth  of  it,  and  now  wished 
to  relinquish  the  task  on  account  of  her  impending  mar- 
riage. Miss  Evans  took  it  up  and  completed  it,  and 
received  for  her  careful  and  accurate  labor  of  three  years 
the  sum  of  twenty  pounds. 

After  the  death  of  her  father  she  went  abroad  with  the 
Brays,  and  remained  for  some  time  at  Geneva  for  pur- 
poses of  study.  On  her  return  to  England  she  removed 
to  London  and  boarded  with  Dr.  Chapman,  the  editor  of 
the  Westminster  Beview.  She  assisted  him  for  several 
years  in  the  editorship  of  this  periodical,  although  the 
articles,  always  anonymous,  which  she  contributed  to  its 
pages  are  not  very  numerous.  The  most  important 
among  them  are  entitled  :  "  Woman  in  France — Madame 
De  Sable ; "  "  Evangelical  Teaching,"  "  The  Natural  His- 
tory of  German  Life,"  "German  Wit"  (on  Heine), 
"  Worldliness  and  Other  Worldliness  "  (on  Young  and 
Cowper).  Her  literary  work  in  London  brought  her 
into  acquaintance  with  many  eminent  men,  including 
Herbert  Spencer,  always  her  warm  friend,  and  George 
Henry  Lewes,  whom  she  afterwards  married. 

It  was  Mr.  Lewes  who  induced  her  to  attempt  fiction, 


98  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

and  it  was* he  who  sent  her  first  story,  "The  Sad  For- 
tunes of  the  Rev.  Amos  Barton,"  to  Mr.  Blackwood, 
editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine,  as  the  work  of  an 
anonymous  friend.  The  editor  at  once  perceived  the 
merit  of  the  talc ;  but  as  it  was  offered  as  the  first  of  a 
series,  he  requested  to  see  the  others  before  coming  to  a 
decision.  His  letter  to  Mr.  Lewes  concluded  with  the 
words : 

"  If  the  author  is  a  new  writer,  I  beg  to  congratulate 
him  on  being  worthy  of  the  honors  of  print  and  pay.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  from  him  or  you  soon." 

The  first  half  of  the  story  occupied  the  place  of  honor 
in  Blackwood's  Magazine  for  January,  1857,  and  it  was 
concluded  in  the  following  number.  By  that  time  "Mr. 
Gilfil's  Love  Story "  was  completed.  It  had  not  been 
even  begun  when  the  editor  desired  to  see  the  rest  of  the 
series,  and  the  "  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life  "  appeared  regu- 
larly each  month  until  they  concluded  in  the  November 
number  for  the  same  year,  with  "  Janet's  Repentance." 
As  they  proceeded,  Mr.  Blackwood  became  more  and 
more  firmly  convinced  of  the  genius  of  his  new  contribu- 
tor. He  did  not  know  her  sex  or  name,  and  during  the 
earlier  portion  of  their  connection  she  had  not  even 
assumed  a  nom- de-plume. 

In  one  letter,  referring  to  her  first  story,  he  addresses 
her,  for  lack  of  any  more  definite  title,  as  "  My  dear 
Amos." 

"  I  forgot,"  he  writes,  "  whether  I  told  you  or  Lewes 
that  1  had  shown  part  of  the  MS.  to  Thackeray.  He  was 
staying  with  me,  and  having  been  out  at  dinner,  came  in 
about  eleven  o'clock,  when  I  had  just  finished  reading  it. 
I  said  to  him,  '  Do  you  know  that  I  think  I  have  lighted 
upon  a  new  author  who  is  uncommonly  like  a  first-class 
passenger.'  I  showed  him  a  page  or  two  —  I  think  the 
passage  where  the  curate  returns  home  and  Milly  is  first 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  99 

introduced.  He  would  not  pronounce  whether  it  came  up 
to  my  ideas,  but  remarked  afterwards  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  read  more,  which  I  thought  a  good  sign." 

Dickens,  less  guarded  in  his  praise,  had  the  perception 
to  discover  the  sex  of  the  new  author,  which  was  then 
much  discussed,  the  prevailing  idea  being  that  she  was  a 
clergyman.  He  wrote  a  letter  which  he  knew  would  be 
read  to  her,  in  which  he  gave  her  the  generous  welcome 
which  he  never  failed  to  bestow  upon  merit,  whether 
known  or  not  yet  known. 

Adam  Bede  was  begun  as  soon  as  the  "  Scenes"  were 
finished,  and  it  was  hailed  by  Mr.  Blackwood  with 
delight. 

"  Toll  George  Eliot,"  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Lewes,  "  that  I 
think  'Adam  Bede'  all  right  —  most  lifelike  and  real. 
I  shall  read  the  MS.  quietly  over  again  before  writing  in 
detail  about  it.  .  .  .  For  the  first  reading  it  did  not  sig- 
nify how  many  things  I  had  to  think  of ;  I  would  have 
hurried  through  it  with  eager  pleasure.  I  write  this  note 
to  allay  all  anxiety  on  the  part  of  George  Eliot  as  to  my 
appreciation  of  the  merits  of  this  most  promising  opening 
of  a  picture  of  life.  In  spite  of  all  injunctions,  I  began 
'  Adam  Bede '  in  the  railway,  and  felt  very  savage  when 
the  waning  light  stopped  me  as  we  neared  the  Scottish 
border." 

The  book  was  published  in  January,  1859,  the  greater 
part  of  the  second  volume  being  sent  from  Munich,  George 
Eliot  being  in  Germany  at  that  time.  Its  power  was  at 
once  recognized,  and  public  curiosity  about  the  author 
grew  more  and  more  intense.  She  had,  in  her  previous 
work,  described  with  close  accuracy  many  of  the  scenes 
around  Nuneaton  and  Coventry ;  moreover,  she  had  not 
contented  herself  with  painting  merely  the  background  of 
her  scenes  from  life,  but,  in  "  Amos  Barton,"  had  chosen 
as  her  theme  a  storv  well  known  in  the  neighborhood. 


100  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

Amos,  Milly,  and  the  Countess,  under  their  real  names, 
were  a  familiar  tradition  of  the  place,  and  Milly's  grave  is 
still  pointed  out  in  the  quiet  country  churchyard.  These 
portraits  of  places  and  people  were  soon  recognized,  and 
the  only  question  remaining  to  be  solved  was,  who  among 
the  residents  of  the  regions  described  was  capable  of 
writing  such  a  story? 

The  popular  voice  soon  fixed  upon  a  gentleman  by  the 
name  of  Liggins,  who  had  once  run  through  a  fortune  at 
Cambridge  and  was  accordingly  considered  a  person  of 
marked  accomplishments.  Mr.  Liggins  at  first  denied 
the  authorship  imputed  to  him,  but  he  was  not  believed, 
and  made  no  very  earnest  endeavors  to  convince  his 
admiring  neighbors  of  their  mistake.  At  last,  indeed,  he 
ceased  altogether  to  make  denials,  and  a  claim  was  put 
forward  in  the   Times  in  his  behalf.     It  ran  as  follows: 

"Sir,  —  The  author  of  'Scenes  of  Clerical  Life'  and 
'Adam  Bede,'  is  Mr.  Joseph  Liggins,  of  Nuneaton,  War- 
wickshire. You  may  easily  satisfy  yourself  of  my  cor- 
rectness by  inquiring  of  any  one  in  that  neighborhood. 
Mr.  Liggins  himself  and  the  characters  whom  he  paints 
are  as  familiar  there  as  the  twin  spires  of  Coventry. 
Yours  obediently,  H.  Anders,  Rector  of  Kirkby." 

The  next  day,  appeared  George  Eliot's  reply: 

« Sir,  —  The  Rev.  IT.  Anders  has  with  questionable 
delicacy  and  unquestionable  inaccuracy  assured  the  world 
through  your  columns  that  the  author  of  '  Scenes  of  Cleri- 
cal Life'  and  'Adam  Bede'  is  Mr.  Joseph  Liggins,  of 
Nuneaton.  I  beg  distinctly  to  deny  that  statement.  I 
declare  on  my  honor  that  that  gentleman  never  saw  a  line 
of  those  works  until  they  were  printed,  nor  had  he  any 
knowledge  of  them  whatever.  Allow  me  to  ask  whether 
the  act  of  publishing  a  book  deprives  a  man  of  all  claim  to 
the  courtesies  usual  among  gentlemen  ?  If  not,  the  attempt 
to  pry  into  what  is  obviously  meant  to  be  withheld  —  my 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  101 

name  —  and  to  publish  the  rumors  which  such  prying 
may  give  rise  to,  seems  to  me  quite  indefensible,  still 
mere  so  to  state  these  rumors  as  ascertained  truths.  I 
am  Sir,  yours,  etc.,  George  Eliot." 

This  very  gentleman-like  letter  carried  conviction  to 
most  minds,  although  there  were  still  a  few  who  con- 
tinued to  place  their  faith  in  Liggins.  Gradually,  how- 
ever, it  came  to  be  known  in  literary  circles,  and  later  to 
the  public,  that  George  Eliot  was  no  other  than  Mrs. 
Lewes,  formerly  Mary  Anne  Evans. 

Most  readers  are  aware  that  the  circumstances  attend- 
ing the  marriage  of  this  gifted  lady  to  Mr.  Lewes  were 
peculiar.  Miss  Evans,  as  I  have  been  told  by  one  of  her 
neighbors,  lived  for  some  years  within  a  short  distance  of 
the  house  of  Mr.  Lewes,  and  was  thus  drawn  into  an 
intimacy  with  his  family.  She  became,  of  necessity,  a 
confidante  of  its  fatal  secret.  Plis  wife  had  been  false  to 
him.  She  had  left  his  house,  and  had  lived  for  some  time 
in  dishonorable  relations  with  another.  She  had  returned 
to  him  penitent,  as  lie  believed ;  he  had  forgiven  her,  and 
she  had  resumed  her  place  at  the  head  of  his  household, 
and  her  duties  as  the  mother  of  his  children.  During 
this  interval,  Miss  Evans  became  warmly  attached  to  the 
children  of  the  house,  who  were  very  young,  and  often 
needed  the  tender  care  and  aid  which  mothers  alone 
usually  know  how  to  render,  but  which  in  this  instance 
the  mother  not  unfrequently  left  to  another  to  bestow. 
More  than  once,  I  have  been  credibly  assured,  when  their 
mother  was  absent  from  her  home  in  quest  of  pleasure, 
her  duties  were  performed  by  Miss  Evans,  hastily  sum- 
moned for  the  purpose. 

Time  passed.  Late  one  afternoon,  Miss  Evans  was 
sent  for  again,  and,  on  reaching  the  house,  she  learned 
that  Mrs.  Lewes  had  once  more  abandoned  her  home,  her 
children,  her  duties,  and   had   rejoined   her   paramour. 


102  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

The  household,  as  we  may  readily  conceive,  was  thrown 
into  confusion.  The  husband,  overwhelmed,  was  unable 
to  lend  his  usual  helping  hand  to  the  indispensable  routine, 
and,  in  particular,  there  was  no  one  competent  to  put 
little  children  to  bed,  and  attend  to  them  during  the  night. 
Miss  Evans,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  took  the  place  of 
the  absent  mother,  as  she  had  done  before,  and  remained 
an  inmate  of  the  house  until  the  affairs  of  the  family 
were  again  in  some  orderly  train.  She  continued  to 
watch  over  them,  as  any  affectionate  woman  would  who 
saw  little  children  left  worse  than  motherless. 

These  things  had  their  natural  effect  upon  the  feelings 
of  the  injured  husband.  In  due  time  he  proposed  to  her, 
and  she  accepted  him,  both  assuming  that,  in  so  plain  a 
case,  there  could  be  neither  difficulty  nor  delay  in  com- 
pleting the  requisite  divorce.  The  wife,  who  was  living 
in  open  defiance  of  law,  it  was  well  known  would  offer 
no  opposition  to  the  formal  severance  of  a  tie  already 
rudely  broken  by  her.  Nevertheless,  an  obstacle  arose. 
An  ancient  and  originally  well-meant  provision  of  English 
law  debars  an  injured  husband  from  obtaining  a  divorce 
if  he  has  once  forgiven  an  erring  wife  and  resumed 
cohabitation  with  her. 

The  discovery  of  this  statute  threw  the  parties  con- 
cerned into  painful  embarrassment.  They  thought  at 
first  of  marrying  abroad,  but  no  foreign  marriage  is 
valid  in  England  against  English  law ;  nor  indeed  can  a 
lawful  marriage  be  contracted  in  the  continent  of  Europe 
unless  the  authorities  of  the  country  are  legally  notified 
that  no  obstacle  exists  in  the  laws  of  the  country  to 
which  the  couple  belong.  In  these  circumstances,  Mr. 
Lewes  invited  a  number  of  his  friends  to  his  house,  in 
whose  presence  and  with  whose  sanction  they  contracted 
matrimony,  deeming  it  within  their  right,  both  as  human 
beings  and  as  citizens,  to  disregard  a  law  so  manifestly 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  103 

unjust.  It  may  have  been  an  error  of  judgment  on  their 
part ;  but,  so  far  as  appears,  no  inconveniences  resulted 
from  their  action.  Even  those  who  disapproved  made 
charitable  allowance  for  the  peculiarities  of  the  case,  and 
others  felt  that  what  George  Eliot  deliberately  concluded 
to  be  right  could  not  be  wrong. 

In  Adam  Bede,  her  first  long  novel,  George  Eliot  had 
left  Warwickshire,  and  sought  her  scene  in  Derbyshire, 
the  ancient  home  of  her  ancestors.  In  Adam  himself,  as 
in  Caleb  Garth,  she  depicts  some  of  her  father's  traits  of 
character,  while  Dinah  Morris,  though  by  no  means,  as 
has  been  claimed,  an  exact  portrait,  was  undoubtedly 
suggested  by  her  aunt,  Elizabeth  Evans.  This  lady  was 
a  Methodist,  and  had  been  a  preacher ;  she  was  sweet  and 
gentle  in  manner,  and  possessed  the  clear  grey  eyes  and 
pleasant  voice  attributed  by  the  great  novelist  to  Dinah. 
She  used  to  hold  long  conversations  with  her  niece,  and 
on  one  occasion  related  how  she  had  converted  a  young 
woman  who  was  in  prison  for  the  crime  of  child-murder. 
The  woman  was  hardened,  ordinary,  and  uninteresting, 
she  said,  and  she  entered  into  no  details  regarding  the 
matter.  From  this  simple  incident  arose  Hetty  and 
Dinah,  and  that  marvelous  scene  in  the  prison.  Other 
portions  of  the  book  have  also  their  foundation  in  life — 
the  death  of  Adam's  father,  for  example — but  in  all  a 
mere  hint  has  sufficed,  and  she  has  not  sought  to  retain 
the  actual  details.  Many  people,  however,  insisted  that 
she  was  much  more  indebted  to  her  aunt  than  this  ;  and, 
of  one  of  their  most  frequent  assertions,  she  writes  to 
her  friend,  Miss  Hennell : 

"  How  curious  it  seems  to  me  that  people  should  think 
Dinah's  sermon,  prayers,  and  speeches  were  copied,  when 
they  were  written,  with  hot  tears,  as  they  surged  up  in 
my  own  mind !  " 

Her  next  book,  issued  in  April,  1860,  was  "  The  Mill 

7 


104  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

on  the  Floss."  It  sustained  the  reputation  which  Adam 
Bede  had  won  for  her,  but  did  not  enhance  it.  The  title 
first  given  to  the  work  was  "  Sister  Maggie,"  but  this  was 
afterwards  discarded  as  not  being  sufficiently  distinctive, 
and  the  title  which  it  now  bears  was  suggested  by  the 
editor  of  Blackwood. 

In  the  description  of  Maggie  Tulliver,  and,  more 
especially,  in  the  awakening  and  development  of  her 
religious  nature,  George  Eliot  spoke  from  the  heart. 
Many  of  Maggie's  struggles,  failures,  and  triumphs  were 
her  own.  It  is  well  known  that,  in  her  early  youth,  she 
Avas  deeply  religious,  perhaps  even  morbidly  so.  She 
spent  much  of  her  time  in  prayer  and  tears  ;  and  she  did 
not  escape  into  a  healthy  clearness  of  view  until  she  came 
under  the  influence  of  her  friends,  the  Brays.  The 
"  Imitation  of  Christ"  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  which 
plays  so  important  a  part  in  the  novel,  was  one  of  her 
own  favorite  books ;  and  she  has  given  us  few  more 
touching  pictures  than  that  of  poor,  untaught,  passionate 
Maggie  Tulliver  poring  over  the  little  worn  yolume  with 
the  faded  pen  marks  running  along  its  leaves,  where  some 
one  else  before  her  had  sought  and  found  comfort ;  she 
now  reading  "  where  the  quiet  hand  pointed." 

"  Silas  Marner,"  which  many  consider  the  most  perfect 
of  all  her  works,  and  the  noblest  of  all  fictions,  came 
after  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss."  Romola,  that  wonderful 
living  picture  of  ancient  Florence,  followed ;  then,  after 
three  yearsx  "  Felix  Holt ;  "  then,  after  a  longer  pause  of 
five  years,  "  Middlemarch ;"  then  Daniel  Deronda,  her  last 
novel,  and  finally  the  little  volume  of  sketches,  entitled, 
"  Theophrastus  Such."  The  Spanish  Gypsy  and  other 
poems,  beside  one  or  two  short  stories,  formed  an  inter' 
lude  between  the  periods  of  her  more  extended  labors. 

Among  the  few  letters  of  George  Eliot  which  have 
been   printed   since   her   death,   there  are  two  or  three 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  105 

addressed  to  a  German  critic,  Professor  Kaufmann, 
who  had  written  a  generous  review  of  Daniel  Deronda, 
and  sent  the  authoress  a  copy  of  it.  Her  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  courtesy  led  to  a  correspondence,  which  was 
continued  to  near  the  close  of  her  life.  The  letters  were 
furnished  by  Professor  Kaufmann  to  an  English  periodical : 

i. 
"The  Priory,  21  North  Bank,  May  31,  '77. 

"  My  Dear  Sir. — Hardly,  since  I  became  an  author, 
have  I  had  a  deeper  satisfaction,  I  may  say  a  more  heart- 
felt joy,  than  you  have  given  me  in  your  estimate  of 
*  Daniel  Deronda.' 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  it  is  my  rule,  very  strictly  observed, 
not  to  read  the  criticisms  on  my  writings.  For  years  I 
have  found  this  abstinence  necessary  to  preserve  me 
from  that  discouragement  as  an  artist  which  ill-judged 
praise,  no  less  than  ill-judged  blame,  tends  to  produce  in 
me.  For  far  worse  than  any  verdict  as  to  the  proportion 
of  good  and  evil  in  our  work,  is  the  painful  impression 
that  we  write  for  a  public  which  has  no  discernment  of 
good  and  evil. 

u  My  husband  reads  any  notices  of  me  that  comes  before 
him,  and  reports  to  me  (or  else  refrains  from  reporting) 
the  general  character  of  the  notice  or  something  in  par- 
ticular which  strikes  him  as  showing  either  an  excep- 
tional insight  or  an  obtuseness  that  is  gross  enough  to 
be  amusing.  Very  rarely,  when  he  has  read  a  critique  of 
me,  he  has  handed  it  to  me,  saying,  "  You  must  read 
this."  And  your  estimate  of  'Daniel  Deronda'  made  one 
of  these  rare  instances. 

"  Certainly,  if  I  had  been  asked  to  choose  what  should 
be  written  about  my  book  and  who  should  write  it,  I 
should  have  sketched — well,  not  anything  as  good  as  you 
have  written,  but  an  article  which  must  be  written  by  a 


106  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

Jew  who  showed  not  merely  sympathy  with  the  best 
aspirations  of  his  race,  but  a  remarkable  insight  into  the 
nature  of  art  and  the  processes  of  the  artistic  mind. 
Believe  me,  I  should  not  have  cared  to  devour  even 
ardent  praise  if  it  had  not  come  from  one  who  showed 
the  discriminating  sensibility,  the  perfect  response  to  the 
artist's  intention,  which  must  make  the  fullest,  rarest 
joy  to  one  who  works  from  inward  conviction  and  not  in 
compliance  with  current  fashions.  Such  a  response 
holds  for  an  author  not  only  what  is  best  in  "  the  life 
that  now  is,"  but  the  promise  of  "  that  which  is  to  come." 
I  mean  that  the  usual  approximative,  narrow  perception 
of  what  one  has  been  intending  and  professedly  feeling 
in  one's  work,  impresses  one  with  the  sense  that  it  must 
be  poor,  perishable  stuff,  without  roots  to  take  any  lasting 
hold  in  the  minds  of  men ;  while  any  instance  of  com- 
plete comprehension  encourages  me  to  hope  that  the 
creative  prompting  has  foreshadowed,  and  will  continue 
to  satisfy,  a  need  in  other  minds. 

"  Excuse  me  that  I  write  but  imperfectly,  and  perhaps 
dimly,  what  I  have  felt  in  reading  your  article.  It  has 
affected  me  deeply,  and  though  the  prejudice  and  igno- 
rant obtuseness  which  has  met  my  effort  to  contribute 
something  to  the  ennobling  of  Judaism  in  the  conception 
of  the  Christian  community,  and  in  the  consciousness  of 
the  Jewish  community  has  never  for  a  moment  made  me 
repent  my  choice,  but  rather  has  been  added  proof  to  me 
that  the  effort  was  needed — yet  I  confess  that  I  had  an 
unsatisfied  hunger  for  certain  signs  of  sympathetic  dis- 
cernment, which  you  only  have  given.  I  may  mention  as 
one  instance  your  clear  perception  of  the  relation  between 
the  presentation  of  the  Jewish  element  and  those  of 
English  social  life. 

"  I  work  under  the  pressure  of  small  hurries ;  for  we 
are  just  moving  into  the  country  for  the  summer,  and  all 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  107 

things  are  in  a  vagrant  condition  around  me.      But  I 
wished  not  to  defer  answering  jour  letter  to  an  uncertain 

opportunity 

**  My  husband  has  said  more  than  once  that  he  feels 
grateful  to  you.     For  he  is  more  sensitive  on  my  behalf 

than  on  his  own. 

"  Always  yours  faithfully, 

"  M.  E.  Lewes." 

n. 

"  October  12,  77. 

"  My  Dear  Sir, — ^  trust  it  will  not  be  otherwise  than 
gratifying  to  you  to  know  that  your  stirring  article  on 
*  Daniel  Deronda'  is  now  translated  into  English  by  a 
son  of  Professor  Ferrier,  who  was  a  philosophical  writer 
of  considerable  mark.  It  will  be  issued  in  a  handsomer 
form  than  that  of  the  pamphlet,  and  will  appear  within 
this  autumnal  publishing  season,  Messrs.  Blackwood 
having  already  advertised  it.  Whenever  a  copy  is  ready 
we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  sending  it  to  you.  There 
is  often  something  to  be  borne  with  in  reading  one's  own 
writing  in  a  translation,  but  I  hope  that  in  this  case  you 
will  not  be  made  to  wince  severely. 

';  In  waiting  to  send  you  this  news  I  seem  to  have 
deferred  too  long  the  expression  of  my  warm  thanks  for 
your  kindness  in  sending  me  the  Hebrew  translations  of 
Lessing  and  the  collection  of  Hebrew  poems,  a  kindness 
which  I  felt  myself  rather  presumptuous  in  asking  for, 
since  your  time  must  be  filled  with  more  important 
demands.  Yet  I  must  further  beg  you,  when  you  have 
an  opportunity,  to  assure  Herr  Bacher  that  I  was  most 
gratefully  touched  by  the  sympathetic  verses  with  which 
he  enriched  the  gift  of  his  work. 

"  I  see  by  your  last  letter  to  my  husband  that  your 
Theological  Seminary  was  to  open   on   the  4th   of   this 


108  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

month,  so  that  this  too  retrospective  letter  of  mine  will 
reach  you  in  the  midst  of  your  new  duties.  I  trust  that 
this  new  Institution  will  be  a  great  good  to  professor  and 
students,  and  that  your  position  is  of  a  kind  that  you 
contemplate  as  permanent.  To  teach  the  young  per- 
sonally has  always  seemed  to  me  the  most  satisfactory 
supplement  to  teaching  the  world  through  books,  and  I 
have  often  wished  that  I  had  such  a  means  of  having 
fresh,  living,  spiritual  children  within  sight. 

"  One  can  hardly  turn  one's  thought  toward  Eastern 
Europe  just  now  without  a  mingling  of  pain  and  dread  ; 
but  we  mass  together  distant  scenes  and  events  in  an 
unreal  way,  and  one  would  like  to  believe  that  the  present 
troubles  will  not  at  any  time  press  on  you  in  Hungary  with 
more  external  misfortune  than  on  us  in  England. 

"  Mr.  Lewes  is  happily  occupied  in  his  psychological 
studies.  We  both  look  forward  to  the  reception  of  the 
work  you  kindly  promised  us,  and  he  begs  me  to  offer 
you  his  best  regards. 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

"  Yours  with  much  esteem, 

"M.  E.  Lewes." 

Apart  from  her  works  George  Eliot  was  little  known 
to  the  public.  She  was  always  in  delicate  health,  and 
led  a  retired  life,  visiting  but  little,  and  caring  nothing 
for  general  society,  although  delighting  to  receive  and 
entertain  her  chosen  friends. 

An  American  lady,  who  enjoyed  the  privilege  of 
attending  one  of  her  receptions,  describes  her  as  the 
most  charming  of  hostesses,  her  conversation  simple  yet 
often  profound,  and  often  "  when  you  least  looked  for  it 
taking  an  odd,  quaint  turn  that  produced  the  effect  of 
wit."  Not  only  did  she  talk  herself,  but  she  possessed 
the  gift  of  making  others  talk,  and  of  drawing  from  each 
the  best  that  was  in  him.     Her  voice  was  beautiful,  and 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  109 

reminded    the    hearer,   as   before   remarked,   of    Caleb 
Garth's  description  of  Dorothea  Brooke: 

"  She  speaks  in  such  plain  words,  and  a  voice  like 
music.  Bless  me,  it  reminds  me  of  bits  in  the  '  Messiah!' 
— '  and  straightway  there  appeared  a  multitude  of  the 
heavenly  host,  praising  God  and  saying ; '  it  has  a  tone 
with  it  which  satisfies  your  ear." 

George  Eliot's  features,  as  is  well  known,  remained  to 
the  last  imposing  rather  than  pleasing,  bearing  a  striking 
resemblance  to  those  of  Savonarola.  But  she  retained 
her  abundant  hair,  and  her  clear,  expressive  grey  eyes, 
and  her  face  continued  to  lighten  up  so  beautifully  when 
she  smiled  or  became  interested,  that  no  one  who  knew 
her  well  could  think  of  her  as  plain.  Her  head,  although 
very  massive,  did  seem  out  of  proportion  to  her  small 
and  fragile  figure.  She  wore,  as  her  American  visitor 
reports,  a  high-bodied  black  velvet  dress,  with  rich  lace 
in  the  neck  and  sleeves.  At  her  throat  was  a  fine  cameo 
set  in  pearls.  Her  hair  was  brought  low  upon  her  fore- 
head and  around  her  ears,  and  coiled  at  the  back  ;  and  a 
square  of  lace,  matching  that  in  her  dress,  was  pinned 
lightly  upon  the  top  of  her  head. 

Her  reception  room  was  both  home-like  and  elegant. 
Over  the  piano  hung  a  fine  engraving  of  Guido's  Aurora, 
water-color  paintings  of  bright  flowers  adorned  the 
corners  of  the  wall,  and  small  tables  standing  upon  soft 
Persian  rugs  supported  vases  filled  with  flowers,  easel 
pictures,  and  small  casts  of  antique  statues.  Books 
were  everywhere. 

This  is  surely  a  pleasant  picture  of  her  winter  home. 
Her  summers  were  passed  sometimes  in  visiting  the  con- 
tinent, and  later  at  Witley,  among  the  lovely  hills  of 
Surrey. 

Her  married  life  was  one  of  great  happiness.  Miss 
Blind  tells  us  that  "  it  seemed  to  those  who  saw  them 


110  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

after  their  union  that  they  could  never  be  apart.  Each 
seemed  to  gain  strength  by  contact  with  the  other.  Mr. 
Lewes'  mercurial  disposition  now  assumed  a  stability 
greatly  enhancing  his  brilliant  talents,  and  for  the  first 
time  facilitating  that  concentration  of  intellect  so  neces- 
sary for  the  production  of  really  lasting  philosophic 
work.  On  the  other  hand,  George  Eliot's  still  dormant 
faculties  were  roused  and  stimulated  to  the  utmost  by  the 
man  to  whom  this  union  with  her  formed  the  most  memo- 
rable year  of  his  life.  By  his  enthusiastic  belief  in  her 
he  gave  her  the  only  thing  she  wanted  —  a  thorough 
belief  in  herself.  Indeed,  he  was  more  than  a  husband ; 
he  was,  as  an  intimate  friend  once  pithily  remarked,  a 
very  mother  to  her.  Tenderly  watching  over  her  delicate 
health,  cheering  the  grave  tenor  of  her  thoughts  by  his 
inexhaustible  buoyancy,  jealously  shielding  her  from  every 
adverse  breath  of  criticism,  Mr.  Lewes  in  a  manner  cre- 
ated the  spiritual  atmosphere  in  which  George  Eliot  could 
best  put  forth  all  the  flowers  and  fruits  of  her  genius." 

He  died  ill  1878.  Among  the  many  letters  of  sympathy 
which  she  received  after  her  loss,  was  one  from  Professor 
Kaufmann,  her  reply  to  which  has  been  published  since 
her  death. 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  she  writes,  "  your  kind  letter  has 
touched  me  very  deeply.  I  confess  that  my  mind  had 
more  than  once  gone  out  to  you  as  one  from  whom  I 
should  like  to  have  some  sign  of  sympathy  with  my  loss. 
But  you  were  rightly  inspired  in  waiting  until  now,  for 
during  many  weeks  I  was  unable  even  to  listen  to  the 
letters  which  my  generous  friends  were  continually  send- 
ing me.  Now,  at  last,  I  am  eagerly  interested  in  every 
communication  that  springs  out  of  an  acquaintance  with 
my  husband  and  his  works. 

"  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  about  the  Hungarian 
translation  of  his  '  History  of  Philosophy,'  but  what  would 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  Ill 

I  not  have  given  if  the  volumes  could  have  come  a  few 
days  before  his  death ;  for  his  mind  was  perfectly  clear, 
and  he  would  have  felt  some  joy  in  that  sign  of  his  work 
being  effective.  I  do  not  know  whether  you  enter  into 
the  comfort  I  feel  that  he  never  knew  he  was  dying,  and 
fell  gently  asleep  after  ten  days  of  illness,  in  which  the 
suffering  was  comparatively  mild. 

"  One  of  the  last  things  he  did  at  his  desk  was  to 
despatch  a  manuscript  of  mine  to  the  publishers.  The 
book  (not  a  story  and  not  bulky)  is  to  appear  near  the 
end  of  May,  and  as  it  contains  some  words  I  wanted  to 
say  about  the  Jews,  I  will  order  a  copy  to  be  sent  to  you. 

"  1  hope  that  your  labors  have  gone  on  uninterruptedly 
for  the  benefit  of  others,  in  spite  of  public  troubles.  The 
aspect  of  affairs  with  us  is  grievous  —  industry  languish- 
ing and  the  best  part  of  our  nation  indignant  at  our 
having  been  betrayed  into  an  unjustifiable  war  (in  South 
Africa). 

"  I  have  been  occupied  in  editing  my  husband's  MSS., 
so  far  as  they  are  left  in  sufficient  completeness  to  be 
prepared  for  publication  without  the  obtrusion  of  another 
mind  instead  of  his.  A  brief  volume  on  'The  Study 
of  Psychology'  will  appear  immediately,  and  a  further 
volume  of  psychological  studies  will  follow  in  the  autumn. 
But  his  work  was  cut  short  while  he  still  thought  of  it  as 
the  happy  occupation  of  far-reaching  months.  Once  more 
let  me  thank  you  for  remembering  me  in  my  sorrow,  and 
believe  me, 

"  Yours  with  high  regard, 

"M.  E.  Lewes." 

In  1880,  George  Eliot  again  married,  becoming  the 
wife  of  Mr.  John  Walter  Cross,  long  the  friend  of  herself 
and  her  husband.  Her  second  union  gave  every  promise 
of  happiness,  and  a  wedding  tour  in  Italy  appeared  to 
restore  her  health,  which  had  been  drooping  since   the 


112  GEORGE   ELIOT. 

death  of  Mr.  Lewes.  But  the  winter  which  followed  her 
return  to  England  was  unusually  rigorous,  and  she  was 
unable  to  bear  its  severity.  She  died  only  two  weeks 
after  removing  to  her  new  home  at  Cheyne  Walk,  Chelsea. 

She  lies  buried  in  Highgate  Cemetery,  beside  the  grave 
of  George  Henry  Lewes.  Her  funeral  took  place  on  a 
day  of  mist  and  rain ;  yet,  in  addition  to  the  numerous 
friends,  distinguished,  most  of  them,  in  science,  art,  or 
philanthropy,  who  came  to  do  her  honor,  there  was 
gathered  a  crowd,  quiet,  orderly,  and  sorrowful,  of  people, 
friends  also,  who  had  never  known  her  face  or  voice.  All 
stood  silent  while  the  Unitarian  service  was  concluded  by 
her  grave ;  then  they  slowly  dispersed,  each  pausing  a 
moment  to  look  down  upon  the  coffin  covered  with 
flowers. 

If  George  Eliot's  work  in  literature  is  of  the  highest, 
so,  too,  is  her  place  as  a  friend  and  helper  among  men. 
No  one  reading  her  works  can  think  of  her  as  an  artist 
merely,  high  and  honorable  although  that  title  is.  She 
is  much  more ;  she  is  that  which  she  longed  to  be  when 
she  wrote  the  aspiration  that  closes  her  volume  of 
poems : 

"O  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 
Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds  made  better  by  their  presenee ;  live 
In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 
In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
For  miserable  aims  that  end  with  self, 
In  thoughts  sublime  that  pierce  the  night  like  stars, 
And  with  their  mild  persistence  urge  man's  search 
To  vaster  issues." 


PRINCESS   LOUISE. 


VIII. 

THE  PRINCESS  LOUISE. 

THIS  lady,  who  has  been  for  some  years  past  our 
neighbor  and  our  occasional  visitor,  always  wel- 
come, is  the  sixth  child  of  the  Queen  of  England.  If 
any  suppose  that  people  who  inhabit  royal  palaces  are 
exempt  either  from  the  sorrows  or  from  the  apprehen- 
sions of  the  human  lot,  they  have  but  to  turn  to  the 
letters  of  Prince  Albert  in  which  the  Prince  mentions 
the  birth  of  this  daughter,  to  discover  their  mistake.  It 
was  in  1848,  the  year  of  revolution  in  Europe,  when 
Louis  Philippe  of  France  fled  across  the  sea,  and  every 
throne  on  the  continent  seemed  tottering  to  its  fall. 
There  was  panic  in  every  royal  abode.  At  Buckingham 
Palace,  where  the  Queen  of  England  was  then  expecting 
the  birth  of  her  child,  if  there  was  less  alarm,  there  was 
not  less  grief  for  the  troubles  and  perils  of  near  and  dear 
relations.  In  the  midst  of  the  political  convulsion, 
Prince  Albert  received  the  news  of  the  death  of  his 
grandmother,  and  he  wrote  of  this  sad  event  quite  in  the 
human  style,  as  though  he  were  no  Prince  at  all. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  he,  "  the  news  you  sent  were  heavy  news 
indeed.  The  dear,  good  grandmamma  !  She  was  an  angel 
upon  earth,  and  to  us  ever  so  good  and  loving.  What 
dismal  times  are  these !  I  cannot  give  full  way  to  my 
own  grief,  harrassed  as  we  both  are  with  the  terrible 
present.  Augustus,  Clementine  Nemours,  and  the  Duch- 
ess of  Montpensier  have  come  to  us,  one  by  one,  like 
people  shipwrecked ;  Yictorie,  Alexander,  the  King,  the 
Queen,  are  still  tossing  upon  the  waves,  or  have  drifted 

(115) 


116  THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE. 

to  other  shores  ;  we  know  nothing  of  them.  France  is  ra 
flames ;  Belgium  is  menaced.  We  have  a  ministerial, 
money,  and  tax  crisis ;  and  Victoria  is  on  the  point  of 
being  confined.     My  heart  is  heavy." 

These  words  were  written  February  29,  1848.  One 
after  another,  the  French  princes  and  ministers  came 
straggling  in  from  frantic  France  to  steady-going  Eng- 
land, finding  refuge  in  her  royal  palaces.  In  a  few  days 
the  Prince  wrote  joyfully  to  his  staunch  and  able  friend, 
Baron  Stockmar: 

"I  have  good  news  for  you  to-day.  Victoria  was 
safely  delivered  this  morning,  and,  though  it  be  a 
daughter,  still  my  joy  and  gratitude  are  very  great,  as  I 
was  often  full  of  misgiving  because  of  the  many  moral 
shocks  which  have  crowded  upon  Victoria  of  late.  V. 
and  the  baby  arc  perfectly  well." 

Thus,  the  Princess  was  born  in  the  midst  of  the  storm 
that  swept  over  the  world  in  March,  1848.  The  tempest 
was  of  such  a  nature  that  no  precautions  could  prevent 
the  thunder  of  it  penetrating  the  apartments  of  the 
Queen.  She  was  able,  nevertheless,  to  preserve  her 
tranquility  through  it  all. 

"  From  the  first,"  she  wrote  to  King  Leopold,  as  soon 
as  she  held  a  pen,  "  I  heard  all  that  passed ;  and  my 
only  thoughts  and  talk  were  politics.  But  I  never  was 
calmer,  and  quieter,  or  less  nervous.  Great  events  make 
me  calm  ;  it  is  only  trifles  that  irritate  my  nerves." 

A  few  weeks  later,  while  public  affairs  were  still 
stringent  and  alarming,  the  child  was  baptized  in  the 
chapel  of  Buckingham  Palace,  when  she  received  the 
names  of  Louise  Caroline  Alberta.  For  this  interesting 
occasion  Prince  Albert  adapted  the  music  of  a  chorale 
which  he  had  composed  some  years  before.  It  was 
performed  at  the  christening,  and  has  since  become  a 
popular  tune  in  England  under  the  name  of  Gotha.     It 


THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE.  117 

was  about  this  time  that  Prince  Albert  made  his  first 
public  address  in  England,  which  was  well  received  by 
the  people,  and  caused  him  to  write  with  exultation  that 
'•  monarchy  never  stood  higher  in  England  than  it  does 
at  the  present  moment." 

The  life  of  a  Princess,  viewed  from  the  exterior,  is  but 
a  series  of  pageants,  of  which  in  this  country  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  tell  the  significance,  and  therefore  they  need  not 
occupy  us.  The  Princess  Louise  shares  to  the  full  that 
temperament  of  the  artist,  that  taste  for  everything 
beautiful  and  high,  which  characterizes  several  of  Prince 
Albert's  children.  Her  talents  were  cultivated  under  the 
best  influences  and  appliances.  At  the  age  of  twenty- 
three  years  she  departed  from  the  usage  of  royal  families 
in  marrying  the  Marquis  of  Lome,  the  eldest  son  and 
heir  of  the  Duke  of  Argvle,  the  author  of  the  "  Reign  of 
Law,"  and  of  other  works  that  hover  along  the  verge  of 
heterodoxy.  In  1878,  the  late  Lord  Beaconsfield,  who 
knew  so  well  how  to  pay  court  to  the  royal  family,  named 
Lord  Lome  Governor-General  of  the  Dominion  of  Canada, 
to  succeed  Lord  Dufferin,  the  most  gifted  person  who 
ever  held  the  office.  It  was  a  severe  test  to  a  young  man 
of  twenty-three,  though  invested  with  the  prestige  of  a 
royal  alliance.  It  will  probably  be  found  when  the 
account  comes  to  be  made  up,  that  the  young  Governor, 
by  his  extensive  tours  in  the  remote  parts  of  the  Domin- 
ion, has  done  as  much  to  make  Canada  known,  and  to 
attract  emigration,  as  the  brilliant  and  humorous  speeches 
of  his  more  experienced  predecessor. 

Certainly,  our  friends,  the  people  of  Canada,  have  been 
very  happy  of  late  in  seeing  the  Marquis  of  Lorne  and 
the  Princess  Louise  the  occupants  of  their  Governor- 
General's  mansion.  The  British  empire  in  general  gets  a 
great  deal  of  comfort  and  exhilaration  from  its  royal 
family,   and   no   portion   of    the   empire   more    warmly 


118  THE  PRINCESS  LOUISE. 

cherishes  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  than  the  distant 
colonies. 

We  can  observe  this  by  just  stepping  across  the  border 
line  between  Canada  and  the  United  States.  Recently,  I 
spent  a  day  or  two  at  Calais,  in  Maine,  which  is  separated 
from  St.  Stephens,  in  New  Brunswick,  by  the  river  St. 
Croix,  a  stream  so  narrow  that  it  is  crossed  by  a  covered 
wooden  bridge.  The  two  towns  are  not  more  than  a 
hundred  yards  apart.  People  cross  and  rccross  as  freely 
as  they  go  from  one  street  to  another  of  their  own  town. 
Calais  ladies  who  want  a  pair  of  kid  gloves  step  over  to 
New  Brunswick  and  buy  them  ;  and  St.  Stephens  ladies 
in  quest  of  a  patent  nutmeg-grater  cross  to  the  United 
States  and  supply  their  want.  Between  the  inhabitants 
of  the  two  places  there  is  the  most  perfect  friendliness  of 
feeling.  They  intermarry ;  they  become  partners  in 
business  ;  they  go  to  one  another's  parties,  lectures,  con- 
certs, churches  ;  in  short,  they  mingle  in  every  way,  and 
co-operate  in  everything — except  one  ! 

The  exception  is  politics.  Over  Calais  wave  the  stars 
and  stripes  ;  over  St.  Stephens  "  the  meteor  flag  of  Eng- 
land." At  Calais — town  meetings,  republican  rallies, 
democratic  caucuses,  the  Maine  Law,  Fourth  of  July,  and 
Hurrah  for  Blaine.  At  St.  Stephens — our  gracious  queen, 
gossip  of  changes  in  the  dominion  ministry,  and  portraits 
of  the  Marquis  of  Lome  and  the  Princess  Louise.  It  is  like 
two  people  sitting  side  by  side  with  their  hands  almost 
touching ;  but,  near  as  those  hands  are,  each  draws  its 
life  blood  from  another  heart,  and  its  nervous  force  from 
another  brain. 

Some  of  the  polite  inhabitants  of  St.  Stephens  have  a 
"  Peerage  "  upon  their  tables ;  while  two-thirds  of  the 
people  of  Calais  scarcely  have  an  idea  what  a  Peerage  is. 
A  little  information,  therefore,  concerning  the  new 
Governor-General  may  not  be  unacceptable  on  our  side  of 


THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE.  119 

the  river.  Lord  Dufferin,  in  speaking  ot  his  successor, 
said  that  the  Marquis  of  Lome  "  came  of  good  Whig 
stock,"  or,  in  other  words,  of  a  family  whose  historical 
importance  was  founded  upon  "  the  sacrifices  they  had 
made  in  the  cause  of  constitutional  liberty." 

"  When  a  couple  of  a  man's  ancestors,"  added  Lord 
Dufferin,  "  have  perished  on  the  scaffold  as  martyrs  to 
the  cause  of  political  and  religious  freedom,  you  may  be 
sure  there  is  little  likelihood  of  this  descendant  seeking 
to  encroach  upon  the  privileges  of  Parliament,  or  the 
independence  of  the  people." 

Lord  Dufferin  referred  in  this  passage,  first,  to  the  Earl 
of  Argyll,  executed  in  1660,  for  the  firmness  with  which 
he  maintained  the  independence  of  the  Scottish  Presby- 
terian Church.  It  was  he  who  said,  as  he  laid  his  head 
upon  the  block  : 

"  I  could  die  like  a  Roman,  but  choose  rather  to  die  as 
a  Christian." 

The  son  of  this  nobleman,  another  Earl  of  Argyll,  lost 
his  head  a  few  years  after,  in  the  reign  of  James  II. 
Being  called  upon  to  take  what  was  called  the  test  oath 
of  1661,  he  refused  on  two  grounds:  first,  that  the  oath 
was  inconsistent  with  itself;  and,  secondly,  that  it  was 
inconsistent  with  the  Protestant  religion.  Upon  this  he 
was  convicted  of  high  treason,  sentenced  to  death,  his 
estates  confiscated,  and  his  arms  torn  down.  He  escaped 
into  Holland ;  whence  returning,  after  the  death  of 
Charles  the  Second,  he  joined  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  in 
his  rebellion,  and  soon  shared  the  misfortunes  of  that 
incompetent  leader.  Argyll  being  taken  prisoner,  was 
executed  upon  his  former  sentence,  and  met  his  death 
with  fortitude. 

The  family  from  which  the  Marquis  of  Lome  descends 
is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Europe  ;  it  may  even  be 
the  most  ancient ;  for  there  is  some  reason  to  think  that 


120  THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE. 

while  the  Romans  possessed  Britain  one  of  his  ancestors 
was  already  chief  of  a  Scottish  clan,  afterwards  known 
as  the  Clan  Campbell.  From  about  the  year  1250  the 
history  of  the  family  is  recorded  and  traceable  ;  the  pres- 
ent Duke  of  Argyll,  father  of  the  Marquis  of  Lome, 
being  the  twenty-first  lineal  inheritor  of  the  family 
honors.  Two  centuries  before  the  discovery  of  America 
the  head  of  the  Campbells  fought  for  Robert  Bruce  ;  and 
one  of  his  sons  appears  to  have  founded  a  line  from  which 
sprang  Duncan,  King  of  Scotland,  who  was  murdered  by 
Macbeth.  About  the  year  1300  the  chief  of  the  Camp- 
bells married  Marguerite,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Scot- 
land. Two  centuries  later,  Colin  V,  the  first  of  the 
Campbells  who  was  called  Count  of  Argyll,  married 
Isabelle  Stuart,  another  princess  of  the  blood  royal.  The 
present  Marquis  of  Lome,  therefore,  is  the  third  of  his 
family  who  has  married  a  princess  of  royal  lineage. 

During  many  ages  the  chief  of  a  Scottish  clan  was  little 
more  than  the  head  of  a  numerous  band  of  robbers,  who 
lived  in  rude,  precarious  abundance,  in  habitations  which 
had  no  other  desirable  quality  but  that  of  strength  to 
repel  attacks.  His  landed  possessions  were  extensive, 
but  little  productive,  until  better  modes  of  culture  and 
the  working  of  mines  and  quarries  enabled  the  lands  to 
support  a  more  numerous  population.  The  present  Duke' 
of  Argyll  is  one  of  the  few  great  landowners  of  his  coun- 
try. He  has,  it  is  said,  an  estate  so  extensive  that  he 
can  ride  thirty  miles  in  a  straight  line  without  going  off 
his  own  land.  This  seems  highly  absurd ;  and  it  is 
reasonable  to  think  that,  in  the  course  of  another  cen- 
tury or  so,  social  science  will  have  devised  some  agreea- 
ble and  just  mode  of  relieving  the  family  of  a  part  of 
this  burden. 

During  the  last  two  or  three  generations  the  Dukes  of 
Argyll,  though  descended  from  this  long  line  of  mail-clad 


THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE.  121 

chiefs,  men  of  the  spear  and  the  battle-axe,  have  been 
noted  for  literary  tastes,  a  love  of  science,  and  a  devotion 
to  the  general  intellectual  interests  of  their  country.  A 
Duke  of  Argyll  of  the  last  century  collected  one  of  the 
best  private  libraries  in  Europe.  The  present  Duke,  as 
just  remarked,  has  written  a  work  of  much  celebrity 
called,  "The  Reign  of  Law."  He  has  written  also  an. 
essay  upon  the  ecclesiastical  history  of  Scotland  from 
the  time  of  John  Knox.  His  eldest  son,  the  Marquis 
of  Lome,  is  the  author  of  a  small  book  of  travels,  called 
"  A  Trip  to  the  Tropics  and  Home  through  America." 
He  also  gave  the  world,  a  year  or  two  since,  a  book  of 
poems,  which  I  should  judge,  from  the  extracts  published 
in  the  English  papers,  to  be  of  a  mild  and  harmless 
quality,  not  exactly  what  we  should  expect  from  a 
descendant  of  the  Scottish  Chiefs. 

The  reader,  perhaps,  may  like  to  know  the  name  of  the 
Governor-General.  He  is  well  supplied  with  the  article 
of  name.  It  is  John  George  Edward  Henry  Douglas 
Sutherland  Campbell,  Marquis  of  Lome.  He  is  now 
thirty-eight  years  of  age.  He  has  served  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  and  as  private  secretary  to  his  father,  when 
his  father  was  in  the  ministry.  In  1871  he  married  the 
Princess  Louise,  a  princess  of  whom  such  good  things 
are  spoken  that,  doubtless,  she  would  have  been  beloved 
if  she  had  not  been  a  princess.  Lord  Dufferin,  who 
began  his  public  life  as  Lord-in-waiting  to  Queen  Victoria, 
an  office  which  brought  him  into  familiar  intercourse 
with  the  Queen  and  her  children,  pronounced  a  noble 
eulogium  upon  her,  on  taking  leave  of  the  people  of 
Canada.  He  spoke  of  her  "  artistic  genius,"  of  her  devo- 
tion to  good  objects,  of  her  ready  sympathy  with  the  poor 
and  lowly.  He  described  her  as  being  not  only  a  princess 
of  what  he  called  "  majestic  lineage,"  but  a  good  and  noble 
woman,  in  whom  the  humblest  settler  in  Canada  would 
find  an  intelligent  and  sympathetic  friend. 


122  THE   PRINCESS   LOUISE. 

"  She  will  soon  be  among  you,"  said  he,  "  taking  all 
hearts  by  storm  by  the  grace,  the  suavity,  the  sweet  sim- 
plicity of  her  manners,  life,  and  conversation.  Gentle- 
men, if  ever  there  was  a  lady  who  in  her  earliest  youth 
had  formed  a  high  ideal  of  what  a  noble  life  should  be — 
if  ever  there  was  a  human  being  who  tried  to  make  the 
most  of  the  opportunities  within  her  reach,  and  to  create 
for  herself,  in  spite  of  every  possible  trammel  and  impedi- 
ment, a  useful  career  and  occasions  of  benefiting  her 
fellow-creatures,  it  is  the  Princess  Louise,  whose  unpre- 
tending exertions  in  a  hundred  different  directions  to  be 
of  service  to  her  country  and  generation  have  already 
won  for  her  an  extraordinary  amount  of  popularity  at 
home." 

The  people  of  Canada  are  to  be  congratulated  upon 
having  at  the  head  of  their  government  two  individuals 
who  are  exempt  from  the  harsh  criticism  to  which  par- 
tisan strife  usually  subjects  party  leaders.  This,  indeed, 
is  one  of  the  excellent  points  of  their  system ;  the  head 
of  the  government  being  removed  from  party  contests, 
not  affected  by  party  changes,  not  liable  to  party  animosi- 
ties, a  center  to  which  all  eyes  are  directed  with  fond- 
ness and  pride.  The  republicans  of  the  future  will  proba- 
'  bly  have  this  advantage,  without  the  inconveniences 
attached  to  hereditary  rank.  The  French  Republic  enjoys 
it,  in  some  degree,  at  the  present  moment,  since  the 
president  governs  through  ministers,  who  go  out  of  office 
when  they  cannot  command  a  majority  of  the  national 
legislature.  Thus  there  is  a  happy  blending  of  the  fixed 
and  the  changeable ;  of  the  useful  and  the  ornamental ; 
of  the  conservative  and  the  progressive. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  we  may  have  something  of 
the  kind  in  due  time ;  a  president  elected  for  a  somewhat 
longer  term  than  at  present,  not  eligible  for  a  second 
term,   and   governing  through   ministers   sitting  in  the 


THE   PRINCESS  LOUISE.  123 

House  of  Representatives.  The  president  could  then  be 
something  more  of  an  ornamental  person  than  he  now  is, 
and  be  free  from  the  excessive  toils  of  administration. 
I  am  glad  we  have  the  Dominion  of  Canada  for  a  neigh- 
bor, that  each  country  may,  now  and  then,  get  a  valuable 
notion  from  the  other. 


IX. 

FANNY  MENDELSSOHN. 

WOMEN  occupy  themselves  so  much  with  music, 
that  it  is  surprising  so  few  of  them  compose  it. 
In  some  branches  of  the  fine  arts  women  have  won  the 
first  rank  ;  in  others,  high  rank  ;  but  the  sex  has  not  yet 
furnished  one  composer  of  music  who  can  be  named  with 
the  great  masters,  nor  with  any  masters.  The  career  of 
Fanny  Mendelssohn  may  throw  some  light  upon  the  reason 
why  this  is  so.  She  had  the  requisite  genius ;  she  was 
nurtured  in  the  atmosphere  of  music ;  she  was  trained  in 
her  art  to  a  certain  point ;  she  gave  more  than  promise 
of  original  power.  But  she  was  a  woman,  and  the  tradi- 
tions of  all  the  past  ages,  speaking  to  her  with  the  voice 
of  her  father,  said :  Thus  far,  and  no  farther!  Living 
when  she  did,  and  where  she  did,  her  cheerful  obedience 
was  wise. 

She  was  the  child  of  a  gifted  and  noble  race.  Her 
grandfather,  Moses  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy,  once  said  : 

"  Formerly,  I  was  the  son  of  my  father ;  now,  I  am  the 
father  of  my  son." 

That  father  of  whom  he  spoke,  was  the  famous  Jewish 
philosopher,  Moses  Mendelssohn ;  his  son  was  the  great 
composer,  Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy.  The  family  of 
which  these  two  men  were  the  public  representatives,  was  a 
most  remarkable  one,  for  there  was  not  a  member  of  it 
who  was  not  endowed  in  an  unusual  degree  with  intelli- 
gence and  talent.  These  hereditary  powers,  combined 
with  a  family  affection  beautiful  to  witness,  reached  their 

(124) 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN.  125 

highest  development  in  the  four  children  of  Abraham 
Mendelssohn  Bartholdy — Fanny,  Felix,  Rebecca,  and 
Paul — the  most  brilliant  of  whom  were  the  eldest 
daughter  Fanny,  and  her  renowned  brother  Felix. 

Fanny  Mendelssohn  was  born  at  Hamburg,  Nov.  14, 
1805,  in  a  pretty,  irregular  little  cottage,  called  Martin's 
Mill,  the  balcony  of  which  commanded  a  view  of  tliG 
river  Elbe.  Her  father,  in  writing  to  announce  the  birth 
to  old  Madame  Salomon,  his  mother-in-law,  mentions  a 
curiously  prophetic  remark  of  his  wife's  concerning  her 
first-born,  then  but  a  few  days  old : 

"  Leah  says  that  the  child  has  Bach-fugue  fingers.', 

From  her  earliest  years  the  little  girl  showed  the  same 
marvelous  musical  talent  as  her  brother  Felix,  who  was 
born  in  1809.  The  two  were  educated  together,  receiving 
the  best  instruction  obtainable,  and  displaying  equal 
aptitude  and  application.  Both  began  to  compose  at  a 
very  early  age,  and  both  displayed  extraordinary  memory. 
Fanny,  when  only  thirteen,  learnt  twenty-four  of  Bach's 
preludes,  and  played  them  without  notes  as  a  surprise  for 
her  father.  At  fifteen,  while  she  was  away  from  home, 
she  sent  him  in  a  letter  a  number  of  songs  of  her  own 
composition. 

"  They  went  over  your  Romances  yesterday  at  Viry," 
he  wrote  to  her,  "  and  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Fanny 
Sebastiani  sang  '  Les  Soins  de  mon  Troupeau,'  very  nicely 
and  correctly,  and  likes  them  much.  I  confess  that  I 
prefer  that  song  to  all  the  others — so  far  as  I  can  judge 
of  them,  for  they  were  only  very  imperfectly  performed. 
It  is  bright,  and  has  an  easy,  natural  flow,  which  most  of 
the  others  have  not ;  some  of  them  are  too  ambitious  for 
the  words.  But  that  one  song  I  like  so  much  that  since 
yesterday  I  have  often  sung  it  to  myself,  whilst  I  remem- 
ber nothing  of  the  others,  and  I  think  facility  one  of  the 
most  important  qualities  of  a  song.     At  the  same  time, 


126 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 


it  is  far  from  trivial,  and  the  passage  '  si  j'ai  trouve1  pour 
eux  une  fontaine  claire '  is  even  very  felicitous ;  only  it 
appears  to  me  to  give  too  decided  an  end  to  the  lines 
immediately  following  the  words  '  s'ils  sont  heureux.'  I 
strongly  advise  you  to  keep  as  much  as  possible  to  this 
lightness  and  naturalness  in  your  future  compositions." 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  author  of  this  careful 
criticism  (he  was  a  man  of  business)  had  no  technical 
knowledge  of  music,  yet  his  ear  was  so  exquisite  and  his 
taste  so  perfect,  that  his  children,  including  Felix  when 
at  the  height  of  his  fame,  always  considered  him  as  the 
highest  authority  upon  their  compositions. 

Fanny's  music,  while  she  was  yet  a  child,  earned  her 
two  triumphs,  of  which  she  fully  appreciated  the  value. 
Felix,  when  eleven  years  of  age,  spent  some  time  at 
Weimar,  where  he  was  constantly  in  the  society  of  Goethe, 
who  became  very  fond  of  him,  and  listened  every  day  to 
his  playing.  Sometimes  he  improvised,  or  played  com- 
positions of  his  own  or  Fanny's.  In  a  letter  to  the 
family  he  says,  after  relating  various  bits  of  news : 

"  Now  something  for  you,  my  dear  coughing  Fanny ! 
Yesterday  morning  I  took  your  songs  to  Frau  von  Goethe, 
who  has  a  good  voice  and  will  sing  them  to  the  old  gentle- 
man. I  told  him  that  you  had  written  them,  and  I  asked 
him  whether  he  would  like  to  hear  them.  He  said,  'Yes, 
yes,  with  pleasure.'  Frau  von  Goethe  likes  them  very 
much  indeed,  and  that  is  a  good  omen.  To-day  or 
to-morrow  he  is  to  hear  them." 

Goethe  was  so  pleased  with  the  songs  when  he  did  hear 
them,  that  he  at  once  composed  a  beautiful  little  poem  for 
Fanny,  wrote  it  down  himself,  and  gave  it  to  Zelter  (her 
music  teacher  and  her  brother's)  with  the  words : 

"  Take  that  to  the  dear  child." 

Her  second  success,  although  it  won  her  no  such  honor 
as  this,  was  perhaps  even  more  gratifying  in  its  results. 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN.  127 

Fanny's  father  and  mother  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
Jewish  faith,  but  were  extremely  liberal  in  their  ideas, 
regarding  the  spirit  as  all,  the  form  as  nothing,  and  they 
desired  to  have  their  children  educated  as  Christians. 
This  was  done,  though  at  first  secretly,  in  order  not  to 
wound  the  feelings  of  their  grandparents,  who  were  much 
more  strict  in  their  adherence  to  the  ancient  belief. 
Madame  Salomon,  especially,  was  so  orthodox  a  Jewess, 
that  she  had  cursed  and  cast  off  her  own  son  for  adopting 
Christianity.  "With  this  formidable  old  lady,  however, 
Fanny  was  a  great  favorite,  and  she  used  often  to  visit 
her  and  play  to  her.  One  day,  after  she  had  been  playing 
exquisitely  well,  Madame  Salomon  told  her  to  choose 
what  she  would  like  best  for  her  reward.  To  Madame' s 
great  surprise,  the  reply,  given  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, was : 

"Forgive  Uncle   Bartholdy." 

The  request,  so  earnest  and  so  unexpected,  touched  the 
old  lady's  heart,  and  eventually  brought  about  a  recon- 
ciliation, "  for  Fanny's  sake,"  as  she  wrote  to  her  son. 

Although  Fanny  Mendelssohn  received  a  thorough 
musical  education,  studying  always  with  her  brother,  and 
as  earnestly  and  aptly  as  he,  and  although  her  talent  was 
recognized  by  the  family  as  being  almost,  if  not  quite, 
equal  to  his,  yet  none  of  them  for  a  moment  thought  of 
regarding  music  as  her  career.  In  the  eyes  of  Abraham 
Mendelssohn,  as  in  those  of  most  men  at  that  time,  there 
was  but  one  worthy  profession  for  a  woman  —  that  of 
housewife ;  and  so  Fanny,  in  spite  of  some  irrepressible 
longings  for  the  distinction  which  she  felt  it  within  her 
power  to  attain,  acquiesced  in  his  views.  In  the  very 
letter  in  which  he  praised  her  Romances,  her  father  wrote 
to  her : 

"  "What  you  said  to  me  about  your  musical  occupations 
with  reference  to  and  in  comparison  with  Felix,  was  both 


128  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

rightly  thought  and  expressed.  Music  will  perhaps 
become  his  profession,  whilst  for  you  it  can  and  must 
only  be  an  ornament,  never  the  root  of  your  being  and 
doing.  We  may  therefore  pardon  him  some  ambition 
and  desire  to  be  acknowledged  in  a  pursuit  which  appears 
very  important  to  him,  because  he  feels  a  vocation  for  it, 
whilst  it  does  you  credit  that  you  have  always  shown 
yourself  good  and  sensible  in  these  matters ;  and  your 
very  joy  at  the  praise  he  earns  proves  that  you  might,  in 
his  place,  have  merited  equal  applause.  Remain  true  to 
these  sentiments  and  to  this  line  of  conduct;  they  are 
feminine,  and  only  what  is  truly  feminine  is  an  ornament 
to  your  sex." 

Between  Felix  and  Fanny  there  was,  from  the  first,  a 
beautifully  intimate  relation.  They  worked  together 
daily,  each  fully  appreciating  and  admiring  the  labors  of 
the  other.  Felix  concealed  nothing  from  his  sister,  and, 
as  she  afterwards  declared,  she  was  acquainted  with  his 
compositions  from  their  birth. 

"  Up  to  the  present  moment,"  she  wrote  after  many  years, 
"  I  possess  his  unbounded  confidence,  I  have  watched  the 
progress  of  his  talent,  step  by  step,,  and  may  even  say,  I 
have  contributed  to  his  development.  I  have  always 
been  his  only  musical  adviser,  and  he  never  writes  down 
a  thought  before  submitting  it  to  my  judgment.  For 
instance,  I  have  known  his  operas  by  heart  before  a  note 
was  written." 

When  she  was  seventeen,  a  plump,  pleasing  girl,  with 
a  face  spirited  and  refined  rather  than  beautiful,  and  a 
pair  of  magnificent  dark  eyes,  Fanny  won  the  heart  of 
Wilhelm  Hensel,  a  young  artist  of  great  promise,  whose 
affection  she  reciprocated.  The  young  man,  however, 
had  as  yet  attained  no  recognized  position ;  he  was  poor, 
and  had  relatives  dependent  upon  him  for  support. 
Marriage  was  as  yet  impossible,  and   Fanny's  discreet 


FANNY    MENDELSSOHN.  129 

parents  would  not  permit  her  as  yet  to  become  formally 
engaged. 

It  was  in  1821  that  the  young  people  made  each  other's 
acquaintance.  In  that  year  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  of 
Russia  and  his  wife  visited  Berlin,  and  court  festivities  cf 
the  most  elaborate  description  were  given  in  their  honor. 
The  entertainment  provided  for  one  evening  in  particular 
was  a  representation,  by  means  of  tableaux  and  panto- 
mime, of  scenes  from  Moore's  Oriental  poem,  Lalla  Rookh, 
the  characters  being  assumed  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  court.  The  exhibition  was  characterized  by 
artistically  grouped  figures,  beautiful  faces,  and  a  lavish 
display  of  costly  draperies,  gorgeous  jewels,  and  rare 
articles  of  Eastern  manufacture.  When  the  performance 
was  at  last  ended,  Lalla  Rookh  (represented  by  the  Grand 
Duchess  herself)  exclaimed  with  a  sigh : 

"  Is  it  really  over  now  ?  And  are  those  who  come 
after  us  to  have  no  remembrance  of  this  happy  evening?" 

These  words  reaching  the  ear  of  the  King,  he  resolved 
to  have  the  scenes  painted  in  an  album,  the  performers 
all  sitting  for  their  portraits,  and  the  work  when  complete 
to  be  presented  to  the  Grand  Duchess.  This  commission 
was  awarded  to  Wilhelm  Hensel,  who,  before  the  book 
was  sent  away  to  St.  Petersburg,  exhibited  it  for  a  few 
days  in  his  studio,  where  it  was  viewed  by  many  visitors, 
among  whom  came  Fanny  Mendelssohn  and  her  parents. 
The  exquisite  manner  in  which  these  drawings  were 
executed  brought  the  young  artist  at  once  into  favorable 
notice,  and  he  soon  received  from  the  Prussian  govern- 
ment a  scholarship,  which  enabled  him  to  study  in  Rome, 
accompanied  by  an  order  for  a  copy  of  Raphael's  Trans- 
figuration, to  be  of  the  size  of  the  original.  Before 
setting  out  he  wished  to  become  engaged  to  Fanny ;  but 
this,  as  we  have  seen,  her  parents  would  not  permit. 
Although  they  were  not  opposed  to  his  suit,  they  could 


130  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

not  feel  convinced  of  the  depth  of  a  love  founded  upon  so 
short  an  acquaintance,  and  they  were,  besides,  afraid  of 
his  becoming  a  Catholic,  as  his  sister  Louise  had  done. 

Fanny,  although  she  had  perfect  confidence  in  him, 
submitted  without  protest  to  the  family  decree,  and  the 
two  were  not  even  allowed  to  correspond.  Her  mother, 
however,  wrote  to  him  frequently,  so  that  he  did  not  lack 
news  of  his  sweetheart ;  while  she,  in  her  turn,  knew  that 
she  was  not  forgotten,  for  the  young  lover,  when  the  pen 
was  forbidden  to  him,  turned  to  his  old  ally,  the  pencil. 
Beautiful  drawings,  from  memory,  of  her  four  lovely 
children  were  constantly  received  by  Madam  Mendelssohn, 
whose  heart  could  not  fail  to  be  softened  by  such  pleasing 
homage.  They  were  all  addressed  to  her,  none  to  her 
daughter,  but  in  each  picture  Fanny  held  the  post  of 
honor,  and  it  was  her  face  that  was  most  carefully  and 
delicately  elaborated ;  her  dark  eyes  that  gazed  with  the 
most  lifelike  expression  from  the  paper.  Wilhelm  Hen- 
sel  spent  five  years  in  Italy. 

In  1825,  Abraham  Mendelssohn  purchased  the  house 
and  grounds  known  as  No.  3  Leipsick  Street.  Here  he 
and  his  wife  passed  the  remainder  of  their  lives,  and 
here,  too,  Fanny  was  married  and  lived  until  her  death. 
The  house  was  spacious  and  beautiful,  with  lofty  ceilings 
and  large  windows.  One  room,  in  particular,  so  con-' 
structed  as  to  overlook  the  garden,  and  opening  by  a 
series  of  three  arches  into  an  adjoining  apartment,  was 
of  stately  proportions,  and  peculiarly  adapted  to  theatrical 
purposes.  Ordinarily,  it  was  Madam  Mendelssohn's  sit- 
ting-room, but,  upon  Christmas,  birth-days,  and  other 
festive  occasions,  it  was  the  scene  of  all  kinds  of  joyous 
celebrations  —  songs,  plays,  tableaux,  and  operettas.  The 
garden  was  still  more  attractive,  being,  as  Madam 
Mendelssohn  wrote  to  Hensel,  "  quite  a  park,  with  splen- 
did trees,  a  field,  grass-plots,  and  a  delightful  summer 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN.  131 

residence."  This  summer  residence  was  a  roomy,  ram- 
bling, one-storied  garden-house,  freezing  cold  in  winter, 
but  a  paradise  in  summer,  where  Wilhelm  Hensel  and 
Fanny  afterwards  lived. 

Leipziger  Strasse,  No.  3,  soon  became  the  scene  of  what 
Fanny's  son,  Sebastian  Hensel,  described  as  a  "  singularly 
beautiful,  poetic  life."  Indeed,  there  can  be  no  lovelier 
thing  to  contemplate  than  a  gifted,  affectionate,  and  united 
family,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  faithful  friends,  passing 
their  time,  after  the  performance  of  their  daily  duties,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  music,  literature,  and  the  natural 
gayeties  of  youth.  Their  dearest  and  merriest  friend  was 
Klingemann,  a  diplomatist,  and  the  author  of  the  words 
of  Felix's  opera,  "  Son  and  Stranger,"  whose  correspond- 
ence with  Fanny  and  Felix  it  is  a  delight  to  read.  Rietz, 
a  violinist,  was  another  member  of  the  circle,  and  Marx, 
the  editor  of  a  musical  paper,  besides  several  more.  In 
the  garden-house,  too,  lived  an  old  lady  with  a  bevy  of 
nieces  and  granddaughters,  all  bright,  pretty,  and  intel- 
ligent, who  added  their  share  to  the  general  enjoyment. 

During  the  summer  of  1826,  this  gay  party,  favored 
by  beautiful  weather,  passed  the  greater  part  of  their 
time  out  of  doors,  wandering  at  will  in  the  old  garden, 
filling  their  hours  with  music,  poetry,  games,  tricks,  and 
dramatic  representations.  In  one  of  the  summer-houses 
writing  materials  were  kept  constantly  at  hand,  and  who- 
ever had  any  pretty  fancy  or  odd  conceit,  hastened  to  put  it 
down  on  paper.  From  these  jottings  they  formed  a  little 
journal  called  the  Garden  Times,  which  was  afterwards 
continued  in  winter  under  the  name  of  Tea  and  Snow 
Times,  and  proved  a  great  success.  At  this  period,  too, 
they  read  much,  the  favorites  being  Jean  Paul  and 
Shakespeare.  Shakespeare's  comedies  especially  they 
delighted  in,  and,  above  all,  the  Midsummer-Night's 
Dream.     It  was  here,  among  the  trees  and  flowers,  in 


132  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

the  quiet  walks  and  shady  alleys  of  the  old  garden,  in  the 
company  of  congenial  friends,  surrounded  by  the  spirit 
of  lightness,  grace,  and  affection,  that  Felix  Mendelssohn 
became  acquainted  with  that  airy  fantasy  and  set  it  to 
music  worthy  of  it.  It  was  in  this  year  that  he  coin- 
posed  the  overture  to  the  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  and 
so  fully  did  it  express  the  spirit  of  the  play  that,  when 
twenty  years  after  he  wished  to  continue  the  work,  he 
allowed  the  overture  to  remain  untouched,  not  finding  it 
necessary  to  alter  a  note  in  the  work  of  his  youth. 

At  this  time,  too,  and  evidently  inspired  by  the  same 
feeling,  he  set  to  music,  as  a  birthday  present  for  his 
friend  Rietz,  the  stanza  from  the  Walpurgis-Night  Dream 
in  Faust : 

"  The  flight  of  the  clouds  and  the  veil  of  the  mist 

Are  lighted  from  above, 

A  breeze  in  the  leaves,  a  wind  in  the  reeds 

And  all  has  vanished." 

"And  he  has  been  really  successful,"  says  Fanny, 
proudly.  "  To  me  alone  he  told  his  idea :  the  whole  piece 
is  to  be  played  staccato  and  pianissimo,  the  tremulandos 
coming  in  now  and  then,  the  trills  passing  away  with  the 
quickness  of  lightning ;  everything  new  and  strange,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  most  insinuating  and  pleasing.  One 
feels  so  near  the  world  of  spirits,  carried  away  in  the 
air,  and  half  inclined  to  snatch  up  a  broomstick  and 
follow  the  aerial  procession.  At  the  end,  the  first  violin 
takes  a  flight  with  feather-like  lightness,  and  —  all  has 
vanished." 

In  the  autumn  of  1827,  the  merry  Klingemann  went 
to  London,  and  his  friends  of  Leipziger  Strasse,  No.  8, 
missed  him  sadly,  although  an  animated  correspondence 
was  kept  up  between  him  and  Fanny. 

"  I  only  wish  I  were  less  near-sighted,"  he  writes  in  his 
first  letter,  "  especially  for  the  sake  of  the  English  ladies. 


FANNY    MENDELSSOHN.  133 

They  do  not  know  how  to  bake  a  pancake,  and  are  mostly 
occupied  with  useless  things,  but  they  look  desperately 
pretty.  A  peripatetic  girls'  school,  dozens  of  which  you 
see  daily  in  Regent's  Park,  where  they  come  for  fresh 
air,  appears  to  me  like  as  many  pathetic  Peris,  one  more 
beautiful  than  the  other,  marching  two  and  two,  the 
grown-up  ones  together  and  conscious  enough  of  their 
victorious  gifts,  the  severe  Ayah  in  the  rear  looking 
daggers  at  every  male  person.  My  idea  of  English 
ladies  formed  long  ago  at  Paris  was  quite  erroneous.  .  .  . 
By  the  way.  they  are  ridiculously  learned."' 

"If  you  were  here,"  Fanny  wrote  in  reply,  "you  would 
find  plenty  of  scope  for  your  wit  and  fun  in  the  taste  for 
learning  which  the  public  exhibits  this  year.  Of  Alex- 
ander von  Humboldt's  lecture  on  physical  geography  at 
the  university,  you  must  have  heard.  But  do  you  know 
that  at  His  Majesty's  desire  he  has  begun  a  second  course 
of  lectures  in  the  hall  of  the  Singakademie  attended  by 
everybody  who  lays  any  claim  to  good  breeding  and 
fashion,  from  the  king  and  the  whole  court,  ministers, 
generals,  officers,  artists,  authors,  beaux  esprits  (and  ugly 
ones,  too),  students,  and  ladies,  down  to  your  unworthy 
correspondent  ?  The  crowd  is  fearful,  the  public  is 
imposing,  and  the  lectures  are  very  interesting  indeed. 
Gentlemen  may  laugh  as  much  as  they  like,  but  it  is 
delightful  that  we,  too,  have  the  opportunity  given  us  of 
listening  to  clever  men.  We  fully  enjoy  this  happiness, 
and  must  try  to  bear  the  scoffing.  And  now  1  will  give 
up  completely  to  your  mockery,  by  confessing  that  we  are 
hearing  another  course  of  lectures,  from  a  foreigner,  about 
experimental  physics." 

These  confessions  sound  oddly  in  our  day  of  lady 
doctors  and  female  colleges.  Poor  Fanny  was  evidently 
in  doubt  as  to  how  they  would  be  received  by  the  sarcastic 
Klingemann,  but  he  was  quite  gracious  in  his  reply. 


134  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

"  Now  do  not,  for  heaven's  sake,"  he  wrote,  "  believe 
that  I  mean  to  become  satirical  as  regards  the  progress 
of  my  young  lady  friends  in  the  knowledge  of  the  chem- 
ical elements  of  a  collar  or  a  cake ;  they  are  deeply 
important  and  necessary  things.  And  why  should  not  a 
young  lady  know  how  and  where  her  shawl  has  grown, 
quite  as  well  as  the  professor,  who  is  behind  her  in  the 
knowledge  of  its  practical  use  ?  And  another  great 
advantage :  suppose  you  were  suddenly  cast  away  in 
Mongolia,  you  would  only  have  to  submit  some  mountain 
or  river  or  earth  to  a  trifling  investigation  to  say  for 
certain,  here  I  am  in  Mongolia ;  consequently  so  and  so 
many  post  stages  from  Leipziger  Strasse,  No.  3,  and 
quietly  order  your  horses.  .  .  One  thing,  however,  I 
have  to  reproach  you  with,  which  is,  that  you  follow  the 
false  principle  that  prevails  among  women  and  do  not 
carry  your  knowledge  into  life  and  letters.  I  find  (in 
your  letter)  no  comparison  or  metaphor  from  chemistry, 
and  yet  they  would  be  so  ornamental !  If  I  did  but  know 
anything  of  the  matter,  I  would  make  a  better  use  of  it !  " 

In  October,  1828,  Wilhelm  Hensel  returned  from  Italy. 
He  found  Fanny  grown  from  a  gay  girl  of  seventeen  to  a 
brilliant  young  woman  of  twenty-two,  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  intimate  and  admiring  friends,  whom  she  won 
alike  by  her  personal  charms  and  by  her  art.  The  circle, 
which  went  by  the  name  of  u  The  Wheel,"  was  so  close, 
so  complete  in  itself,  it  possessed  so  many  jokes  and 
by-words  that  he  could  not  understand,  so  many  memories 
that  he  did  not  share,  that  at  first  he  felt  himself  a 
stranger,  and  was  jealous.  Fanny's  friends  in  their  turn 
regarded  him  somewhat  in  the  light  of  an  intruder,  come 
to  carry  away  a  prize  which  several  secretly  coveted  for 
themselves,  and  few  were  willing  to  see  bestowed  upon 
another.  But  these  feelings  were  but  transient  and  super- 
ficial, as  Hensel  himself  soon  recognized.     It  was,  as 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN.  135 

usual,  his  art  to  which  he  resorted  to  break  down  the 
barrier. 

In  a  daintily  executed  drawing  he  depicted  the  Leip- 
ziger  Strasse  coterie  as  a  real  wheel,  the  hub  formed  by 
Felix  in  a  Scotch  costume  (an  allusion  to  the  journey  he 
was  about  to  undertake)  and  occupied  with  his  music, 
while  the  spokes  were  composed  of  the  various  members 
of  the  little  society,  two  and  two,  with  costumes  and 
attributes  suggested  by  the  nicknames  which  they  had 
bestowed  upon  each  other.  Fanny  and  Rebecca,  embrac- 
ing, each  holding  a  sheet  of  music,  formed  one  spoke, 
while  upon  the  outside  of  the  wheel  appeared  Hensel  him- 
self, bound  like  Ixion,  one  end  of  the  chain  which  fettered 
him  being  held  in  the  hand  of  Fanny,  who  seemed  about 
to  draw  him  into  the  charmed  circle.  This  bright  little 
plea  had  its  due  effect,  and  Hensel  soon  became  one  of 
the  most  animating  members  of  the  Order  of  The  Wheel. 

The  formal  betrothal  took  place  in  January,  1829,  a 
month  before  Felix's  journey  to  England,  so  that  between 
her  brother's  near  departure  and  her  own  approaching 
marriage,  Fanny's  days  passed  in  unusual  excitement. 

"  We  are  going  to  send  you  Felix,"  she  wrote  to  the 
sympathetic  Kiingcmann.  "  He  has  left  himself  a  beauti- 
ful memorial  here  by  two  crowded  representations  of  the 
f  Passion '  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  What  used  to 
appear  to  us  as  a  dream,  to  be  realized  in  the  far-off 
future  times,  has  now  become  real :  the  '  Passion '  has 
been  given  to  the  public,  and  is  everybody's  property. 
Before  I  can  tell  you  more  about  it,  there  are  other  sub- 
jects— Felix's  journey  and  my  engagement ;  and  I  really 
should  not  know  in  this  throng  of  events  how  to  begin, 
if  I  made  this  at  all  a  matter  of  reflection.  So  then. 
Your  last  letter,  in  which,  not  guessing  what  has  happened 
here,  you  gave  us  a  minute  description  of  all  the  misery 
and  ridicule  of  the  affianced  state,  has  amused  us  exces- 


136  FANNY  MENDELSSOHN. 

sively,  and  I  assure  you  that  your  sarcasms  did  not  touch 
us  in  the  least.  You  may  believe  my  assurance,  that  we 
belong  to  the  better  class  of  our  order,  and  are  not  a 
nuisance  to  other  people.  Only  ask  my  brother  and  sister. 
Nor  do  I  think  it  difficult  to  appear  merry  when  one  is 
inwardly  happy,  and  to  behave  decently  when  one  has 
been  well  brought  up.  I  repeat  it,  I  cannot  comprehend 
those  couples  who  are  intolerably  sentimental.  I  must 
not  forego  the  pleasure  I  have  in  telling  you  that  your 
letters  have  acquired  you  the  affection  of  Hensel,  who 
formerly,  like  all  the  rest  of  your  far-off  friends,  did  not 
know  you.  And  last,  not  least,  let  me  thank  you  for 
offering  to  become  one  of  my  female  friends,  and  accept 
my  assurance  that  our  friendship  will  remain  unchanged, 
as  my  speedy  answer  may  show.  My  memory,  such  a 
bad  one  for  learning,  is  faithfully  retentive  for  all 
experiences  in  life,  nor  shall  new  ties  or  any  decree  of 
fate  make  me  forget  the  friends  and  companions  of  my 
happy  youth.  Our  correspondence,  moreover,  will  gain  a 
new  impulse  by  Felix's  visit  to  England.  .  .  Take 
good  care  of  him,  and  let  him  find  one  warm  heart  for 
the  many  he  leaves  behind  !  " 

In  a  later  letter  to  the  same  faithful  friend  we  get 
another  glimpse  of  her  tender  relation  to  her  brother,  and 
her  anxiety  to  accommodate  herself  to  his  mood  in  spite 
of  time  and  distance. 

"  Here  comes  again  a  little  request,"  she  says  ;  "  Felix 
will  receive  by  the  next  courier  a  parcel  containing  love- 
tokens  and  sentimental  keepsakes ;  be  so  kind  and  carry 
it  to  him  yourself,  and  take  care  that  it  finds  him  in 
good  humor;  and  should  a  copyist  or  a  fly  just  then  have 
vexed  him,  better   keep  it  till  some  better  day." 

Felix  and  Klingemann  both  deserved  all  the  affection 
which  Fanny  bestowed  upon  them.  They  traveled  through 
Scotland  together  and  were  untiring  correspondents,  send- 


FANNY  MENDELSSOHN.  137 

ing  her  the  most  delightful  letters,  long,  graphic,  gossipy, 
and  gay,  interspersed  with  rhymes  by  the  one,  and  music 
by  the  other.  Felix  had  of  course  intended  to  return  in 
time  for  Fanny's  wedding,  but  while  in  London  he  was 
thrown  from  a  carriage  and  his  knee  so  severely  injured 
that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  leave  in  season.  He 
was  terribly  disappointed,  and  so  was  Fanny.  He  could 
but  submit  and  console  himself  as  best  he  might  with 
the  friendly  nonsense  of  Klingemann,  who  promptly  in- 
stalled himself  as  nurse,  and  the  devoted  attentions  of 
the  many  friends  he  had  in  England. 

"Live  and  prosper,"  he  wrote  to  his  sister;  "get  mar- 
ried and  be  happy  ;  shape  your  household  so  that  I  shall 
find  you  in  a  beautiful  home  when  I  come  (that  will  not 
be  long),  and  remain  yourselves,  you  two,  whatever 
storms  may  rage  outside.  However,  I  know  you  both, 
and  that  is  enough.  Whether  I  address  my  sister  hence- 
forward as  Mademoiselle  or  Madame  is  of  no  consequence. 
"What  is  there  in  a  name  ?  .  .  Much  better  things  I 
ought  to  have  written,  but  it  will  not  do.  Say  what  you 
like,  body  and  mind  are  too  closely  connected.  I  saw  it 
the  other  day  with  real  vexation  when  they  bled  me,  and 
all  those  free  and  fresh  ideas  which  I  had  before,  trickled 
drop  by  drop  into  the  basin,  and  I  became  weak  and  weary. 
Klingemann's  epigram  proves  also  how  they  rob  me  of 
the  little  bit  of  poetry  left ;  and  this  letter  shows  it — I 
am  sure  in  every  line  it  is  written  that  I  may  not  bend 
my  leg." 

Klingemann,  too,  wrote  her  a  congratulatory  letter, 
half  merry  and  half  serious,  wishing  her  joy  and  hoping 
the  clergyman  would  keep  his  oration  within  due  bounds. 

The  wedding  took  place  upon  the  third  of  October,  and 
was  a  joyful  and  beautiful  occasion.  Fanny  passed  up 
the  aisle  of  the  church  in  her  bridal  array  to  the  sound 
9 


138  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

of  a  wedding  anthem  of  her  own  composition,  m  which 
her  hopes  and  happiness  found  lovely  musical  expression. 
She  was  a  happy  and  confident  bride,  and  it  was  her  good 
fortune  to  become  also  a  happy  wife  and  a  happy  mother. 

In  the  summer  of  1830  her  son  Sebastian  was  born, 
^and  she  and  her  husband  took  possession  of  the  garden- 
house  at  Leipziger  Strasse,  No.  3,  which  had  received  the 
addition  of  a  studio  built  to  accommodate  Hensel.  Here 
the  greater  part  of  Fanny's  future  life  was  passed,  and 
here  the  young  couple  soon  became  the  center  of  another 
and  a  wider  "  Wheel,"  frequented  by  authors,  artists, 
actors,  singers,  musicians,  and  scientists.  Here  Hensel 
began  and  carried  to  completion  that  marvelous  collec- 
tion of  pencil  and  crayon  portraits,  which  at  the  time  of 
his  death  filled  forty-seven  volumes,  and  contained 
upwards  of  a  thousand  drawings.  These  were  likenesses 
of  relations,  friends,  and  visitors,  all  made  without  for- 
mal  sittings,  being  sketched  in,  frequently  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  during  the  conversation  or 
music  which  usually  passed  away  the  time  of  an  evening. 
The  faces,  probably  for  this  reason,  have  a  singularly 
animated  look,  and  the  value  of  the  collection  is  enhanced 
by  the  autograph  signatures  attached  to  the  portraits  by 
their  originals. 

Even  more  famous  than  her  husband's  portrait  gallery 
were  Fanny  Henscl's  musical  matinees,  which  took  place 
every  Sunday  morning.  These  beautiful  celebrations, 
originating  in  the  meeting  of  a  few  musical  friends  to 
play  or  sing  together  upon  holidays  and  Sundays,  gradu- 
ally developed  into  regular  concerts  with  choral  and  solo 
singing,  trios  and  quartets,  participated  in  by  the  best 
musicians  in  Berlin,  and  listened  to  by  an  audience  that 
crowded  the  beautiful  parlor  which  opened  into  Henscl's 
studio  upon  the  one  hand,  and  upon  the  other  on  the  gar- 
den terrace. 


FANNY   MENDELSSOHN.  139 

In  the  spring  of  1836,  Fanny  received  from  Felix  a 
letter  describing  his  first  performance  of  one  of  her  songs 
in  public. 

"  I  must  write  you  about  your  song  yesterday,"  he  said. 
"  How  beautiful  it  was !  you  know  what  my  opinion  of  it 
always  has  been,  but  I  was  curious  to  see  whether  my  old 
favorite,  which  I  had  only  heard  hitherto  sung  by  Rebecca 
to  your  accompaniment  in  the  gray  room  with  the  engrav- 
ings, would  have  the  same  effect  here  in  the  crowded 
hall,  with  the  glare  of  the  lamps,  and  after  I  had  been 
listening  to  noisy  orchestral  music.  I  felt  so  strange 
when  I  began  your  soft,  pretty  symphony,  imitating  the 
waves,  with  all  the  people  listening  in  perfect  silence ; 
but  never  did  the  song  please  me  better.  The  people 
understood  it,  too,  for  there  was  a  hum  of  approbation 
each  time  the  refrain  returned  with  the  long  E,  and 
much  applause  when  it  was  over.  Mine.  Grabow  sang  it 
correctly,  though  not  nearly  as  well  as  Rebecca,  but  she 
did  the  last  bars  very  prettily.  Bennett,  who  was  in  the 
orchestra,  sends  his  compliments,  and  begs  me  to  toll  you 
all  that  you  already  know  about  the  song,  and  I  thank 
you  in  the  name  of  the  public  of  Leipzig  and  elsewhere 
for  publishing  it  against  my  wish." 

The  last  sentence  refers  to  a  song  which  Fanny  had 
published  and  which  had  met  with  great  success.  Several 
of  her  songs  had  appeared  among  her  brother's  works, 
but  without  her  name,  and  with  nothing  to  distinguish 
them  as  the  work  of  another,  although  Felix  made  no 
Becret  of  their  authorship,  which  was  well  known  to  the 
friends  of  the  family.  An  incident  which  took  place 
during  a  later  visit  of  Felix  to  England  owed  its  origin  to 
this  fact.  He  visited  Prince  Albert  and  Queen  Victoria 
at  Buckingham  Palace,  and  wrote  home  a  glowing 
account  of  the  event.  Prince  Albert  played  and  sang  for 
him,  and  then,  after  some  coaxing,  the  Queen  consented 
to  s?tijt    ' 


140  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

"  After  some  consultation  with  her  husband,"  wrote 
Felix, "  he  said  :  '  She  will  sing  you  something  of  Gluck's.' 
Meantime,  the  Princess  of  Gotha  had  come  in,  and  we 
five  proceeded  through  various  corridors  and  rooms  to 
the  Queen's  sitting-room,  where  there  stood  by  the  piano 
a  mighty  rocking-horse  and  two  great  bird-cages.  The 
walls  were  decorated  with  pictures ;  beautifully  bound 
books  lay  on  the  tables,  and  music  on  the  piano.  The 
Duchess  of  Kent  came  in,  too,  and  while  they  were  all 
talking  I  rummaged  about  amongst  the  music,  and  soon 
discovered  my  first  set  of  songs.  So,  of  course,  I  begged 
her  rather  to  sing  one  of  those  than  the  Gluck,  to  which 
she  very  kindly  consented ;  and  which  did  she  choose  ?  — 
'  Schoner  und  schoner  schmuckt  sich ' —  sang  it  quite 
charmingly,  in  strict  time  and  tune,  and  with  very  good 
execution.  .  .  .  Then  I  was  obliged  to  confess  that 
Fanny  had  written  the  song  (which  I  found  very  hard, 
but  pride  must  have  a  fall),  and  to, beg  her  to  sing  one  of 
my  own  also." 

The  Queen  complied,  singing,  as  Felix  declares, 
"really  quite  faultlessly,  and  with  charming  feeling  and 
expression ; "  and  when  she  had  concluded  he  sat  down 
to  play,  introducing  into  a  beautiful  improvisation  the 
songs  which  she  and  the  Prince  had  sung.  A  handsome 
ring,  the  gift  of  the  Queen,  remained  to  keep  fresh  the 
memory  of  this  pleasant  visit  when  it  was  numbered 
among  the  things  of  the  past. 

Later  in  her  life,  in  fact,  only  a  year  before  she  died, 
Fanny  Hensel  issued  a  volume  of  her  own  compositions 
which  met  with  the  success  it  deserved.  Felix,  who 
never  quite  desired  her  to  publish,  generously  conquered 
his  prejudice  on  this  occasion,  and  wrote  to  wish  her  good 
fortune  in  her  venture  : 

"My  dearest  Fance — Not  till  to-day,  just  as  I  am  on 
the  point  of  starting,  do  I,  unnatural  brother  that  I  am, 


PANNY  MENDELSSOHN.  141 

find  time  to  thank  you  for  your  charming  letter,  and  send 
you  my  professional  blessing  on  your  becoming  a  member 
of  the  craft.  This  I  do  now  in  full,  Fance,  and  may  you 
have  much  happiness  in  giving  pleasure  to  others  ;  may 
you  taste  only  the  sweets,  and  none  of  the  bitternesses  of 
authorship ;  may  the  public  pelt  you  with  roses,  and 
never  with  sand ;  and  may  the  printer's  ink  never  draw 
black  lines  upon  your  soul  —  all  of  which  I  devoutly 
believe  will  be  the  case ;  so  what  is  the  use  of  my  wish- 
ing it  ?  But  it  is  the  custom  of  the  guild,  so  take  my 
blessing  under  my  hand  and  seal.  The  journeyman 
tailor,  Felix  Mendelssolm-Bartholdy." 

The  greatest  joys  of  Fanny  Hensel's  life,  apart  from 
her  music  and  her  pride  in  the  successes  of  her  husband 
and  brother,  were  probably  her  two  journeys  to  Italy,  of 
which  a  full  account  is  given  in  her  delightful  diary. 
Yet  her  home  life  was  most  beautiful  and  most  happy, 
and  she  seemed  continually  learning  to  appreciate  it 
more.  One  of  the  last  entries  in  her  diary  bears  touch- 
ing witness  to  this  fact : 

"Yesterday,"  she  wrote,  "the  first  breath  of  spring 
was  in  the  air.  It  has  been  a  long  winter,  with  much 
frost  and  snow,  universal  dearth  and  distress ;  indeed,  a 
winter  full  of  suffering.  What  have  we  done  to  deserve 
being  among  the  few  happy  ones  in  the  world  ?  My 
inmost  heart  is  at  any  rate  full  of  thankfulness,  and 
when  in  the  morning,  after  breakfasting  with  Wilhelm, 
we  each  go  to  our  own  work  with  a  pleasant  day  to  look 
back  upon  and  another  to  lcok  forward  to,  I  am  quite 
overcome  with  my  own  happiness." 

On  the  afternoon  of  May  14, 1847,  while  sitting  at  the 
piano  playing  the  accompaniment  for  her  little  choir 
which  was  rehearsing  for  the  performance  of  the  next 
Sunday,  she  was  suddenly  seized  with  mortal  illness. 
Her  hands  fell  at  her  sides ;  she  could  neither  speak  nor 


142  FANNY   MENDELSSOHN. 

move ;  and  soon  she  became  unconscious.  Before  mid- 
night she  was  dead. 

While  she  lay  in  her  coffin,  surrounded  by  flowers,  her 
husband  drew  her  likeness.  It  was  one  of  the  most  per- 
fect portraits  he  ever  made,  and  it  was  his  last.  He 
resigned  all  his  commissions  and  never  again  painted 
anything  worthy  of  himself.  The  happiness  and  inspira- 
tion of  his  life  were  gone,  and  during  his  fifteen  remain- 
ing years  he  was  restless  and  unhappy,  and  devoted 
himself  to  politics,  which  he  had  formerly  abhorred.  He 
died  at  length  of  injuries  received  in  saving  a  child  from 
being  run  over. 

Upon  Felix,  although  he  was  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  a 
happy  household  of  his  own,  the  blow  fell  with  yet  more 
crushing  weight.  He  never  recovered  from  it.  He  sur- 
vived his  sister  only  a  year. 

Fanny  Hcnscl  lies  buried  in  the  church-yard  of  the 
Holy  Trinity  at  Berlin,  between  the  brother  and  husband 
to  whom  she  was  so  devoted. 

It  is  to  her  son,  Sebastian  Hensel,  that  we  owe  the 
precious  volume  upon  the  Mendelssohn  Family  in  which 
her  story  is  given  to  the  world.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  exhibitions  of  domestic  happiness,  ennobled  by 
high  feeling  and  great  talent,  ever  given  to  the  world.* 

*  The  Mendelssohn  Family.  From  Letters  and  Journals.  By  Sebastian  Hensel. 
Translated  by  Carl  Klingemann  and  an  American  Collaborator.  2  vols.  Harper  & 
Brothers,  N.  Y.,  18S2, 


X. 

ANGELICA  KAUFMANN". 

THE  name  of  Angelica  Kaufmann  has  outlived  the 
celebrity  of  her  works.  Most  of  us  have  heard 
enough  of  her  to  know  that  she  was  in  her  day  an  artist 
Df  note ;  but  few  besides  those  who  have  read  the  charm- 
ing romance  of  "  Miss  Angel,"  which  Mrs.  Richmond 
Ritchie  (Miss  Thackeray)  has  founded  upon  her  career, 
know  or  care  to  know  much  more.  Some  of  her  pictures, 
but  chiefly  those  which  she  considered  as  of  minor  import- 
ance, are  still  popular  in  the  form  of  engravings  and 
photographs ;  but  the  originals  are  little  cared  for,  and 
hold,  in  the  opinion  of  critics,  by  no  means  so  high  a 
place  as  was  once  awarded  them. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that,  although  she  was  a  pains- 
taking and  gifted  artist,  deserving  of  recognition,  the 
extent  and  duration  of  her  fame  are  due  rather  to  her 
precocity,  her  sex,  and  her  attractive  personality,  than 
to  the  merit  of  her  work. 

Maria  Anne  Angelica  Catharine  Kaufmann  —  she  was 
well  provided  with  names  —  was  born  at  Coire,  in 
Switzerland,  October  30,  1741.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  John  Joseph  Kaufmann,  an  artist  of  limited  reputa- 
tion. He  was  one  of  those  artists  who,  if  his  own 
paintings  were  mediocre,  was  an  excellent  teacher.  Very 
early  in  life  she  displayed  a  marked  inclination  for  music 
and  painting,  and  her  father  cultivated  these  tastes  to 
the  uttermost.  Her  instruction  in  art  and  its  theories 
was,   under  his   care,  exceptionally   thorough,   and   she 

(143) 


'j mil  ■  ii  ■■ 


144  ANGELICA    KAUFMANN. 

proved  herself  an  apt  and  diligent  pupil.  While  still  a 
child  she  was  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  light  and  shade, 
of  perspective  and  coloring,  working  many  hours  a  day 
and  delighting  in  the  ever-increasing  mastery  which  she 
obtained  over  her  pencil  and  brush.  Her  progress  at  this 
stage  of  her  career  was  indeed  extraordinary.  Nor 
were  the  other  elements  of  her  education  neglected.  She 
studied  all  the  ordinary  branches,  acquired  several  lan- 
guages, read  history  and  poetry  with  an  eagerness  and 
intelligence  beyond  her  years,  while  of  music  she  made  a 
serious  pursuit,  devoting  to  it  nearly  as  much  time  as  to 
painting.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  unusual  mental  activity 
she  preserved  her  health  and  her  simplicity,  retaining  all 
the  frankness  and  grace  of  ordinary  childhood. 

While  residing  with  her  father  at  Morbegno  before  she 
was  twelve  years  of  age,  the  Bishop  of  Como,  who  had 
heard  of  her  talents,  came  to  see  her  and  examined  some 
of  her  works.  Her  youth,  her  beauty,  and  her  modesty 
so  pleased  him  that  he  desired  to  sit  to  her  for  his 
portrait,  and  this  important  commission  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  undertake.  She  executed  it,  moreover,  with 
promptitude  and  success,  fully  satisfying  the  prelate  and 
his  friends,  who  spread  the  fame  of  the  achievement  far 
and  wide.  She  became  the  fashionable  artist  of  the 
moment,  orders  showered  upon  her  from  all  sides,  and 
the  Duke  of  Modena  became  her  patron.  A  portrait  of 
Cardinal  Roth,  painted  shortly  afterwards,  was  still  more 
admired  and  revealed  a  great  advance  in  skill.  All  this 
occurred  before  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  child. 

At  Milan,  whither  she  removed  at  the  age  of  fifteen, 
she  was  placed  under  the  most  famous  masters  of  the  day 
and  continued  her  studies  with  unabated  eagerness.  Later 
she  traversed  Italy,  visiting  Bologna,  Venice,  and  Rome, 
feted,  admired,  and  made  much  of  wherever  she  went. 

Winckelmann,  who  met  her  at  Rome,  writes  of  her  to 


ANGELICA    KAUFMANN.  145 

his  friend  Franke,  describing  her  "  popularity,  her  pleas- 
ing manners,  and  her  interesting  conversation,  which  she 
carried  on  with  equal  fluency  in  Italian,  German,  French, 
or  English. 

"  She  may  be  styled  beautiful,"  he  says,  "  and  in  sing- 
ing may  vie  with  our  best  virtuosi." 

Her  voice  was  excellent  and  well  trained ;  indeed,  she 
had  become  so  proficient  in  music  that  when,  at  twenty, 
she  made  her  final  choice  of  a  profession,  she  hesitated 
long  as  to  whether  she  should  adhere  to  painting,  or 
adopt  music  and  the  operatic  stage.  Many  of  her  best 
friends  advised  the  latter  course,  assuring  her  that 
success  lay  within  her  easy  grasp.  She  finally  resolved 
to  pursue  the  career  in  which  she  had  already  made  so 
hopeful  a  beginning,  rather  than  to  enter  upon  an  untried 
path.  That  the  choice  was  no  easy  one  we  may  infer 
from  that  picture  in  which  she  has  represented  herself  as 
standing  between  music  and  painting,  yielding  to  the 
representations  of  the  latter,  but  addressing  to  the  other 
an  affectionate  and  regretful  farewell. 

During  her  stay  at  Venice  she  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Lady  Wentworth,  the  wife  of  the  English  ambassador. 
The  acquaintance  ripened  into  intimacy,  and  Angelica 
was  at  length  induced  by  her  new  friend  to  go  with  her 
to  England.  In  London,  she  soon  became  as  popular  as 
she  had  been  in  Italy.  Lady  Wentworth  introduced  her 
into  society,  and  her  agreeable  gifts  rendered  her  every- 
where a  welcome  guest.  She  made  the  acquaintance  of 
many  distinguished  people,  several  of  whom  became  her 
warm  friends  for  life.  Foremost  among  these  was  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  in  whose  note-books  frequent  references 
to  her  appear,  sometimes  as  "  Miss  Angelica,"  but  oftener 
under  the  abbreviated  title  of  "  Miss  Angel." 

Heartily  as  she  entered  into  the  gaities  of  the  capital, 
Angelica  did  not  sacrifice  her  work  to  her  pleasure.     She 


146  ANGELICA   KAUFMANN. 

painted  constantly  and  successfully^  one  of  her  earliest 
efforts  being  a  portrait  of  Garrick,  which  was  exhibited, 
as  a  contemporary  chronicle  informs  us,  at  "  Mr.  Moreing's 
great  room  in  Maiden  Lane,"  where  it  found  immediate 
favor.  Other  works  rapidly  followed.  She  executed 
portraits  of  several  members  of  the  royal  family,  with 
whom  she  was  a  great  favorite,  and  the  marked  kindness 
which  they  showed  her  greatly  increased  her  popularity. 
She  also  painted  a  likeness  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  thus 
courteously  returning  a  compliment  which  the  illustrious 
artist  had  previously  paid  to  her. 

Her  life  up  to  this  time  appears  to  have  been  a  singu- 
larly happy  one.  Her  father,  of  whom  she  was  extremely 
fond,  was  devoted  to  her ;  she  had  plenty  of  friends  ;  she 
was  beautiful,  gifted,  and  admired ;  and  her  career  in  art 
had  been,  even  from  childhood,  a  series  of  notable  suc- 
cesses. But  the  spell  was  soon  to  be  broken.  First, 
according  to  a  well  supported  tradition,  her  dear  friend 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  fell  in  love  with  her.  He  was  then 
a  man  of  middle  age,  hardly  past  his  prime,  and  at  the 
height  of  his  renown.  He  had  already  won  her  friend- 
ship, even  her  affection,  but  she  had  no  wish  to  marry 
him,  and  it  could  not  but  have  been  painful  to  her  to  dis- 
appoint him.  Their  intimacy,  hoAvever,  remained  unbroken, 
and  in  the  bitter  trial  which  was  about  to  come  upon  her 
she  had  no  friend  more  faithful  or  more  untiring  in  her 
service  than  he. 

About  the  year  1768,  London  society  was  agitated  by 
the  advent  of  a  brilliant  and  dashing  foreigner,  who  gave 
his  name  as  Count  Horn  of  Sweden.  He  was  handsome  ; 
ho  dressed  elegantly  and  expensively ;  he  employed 
numerous  servants  in  gorgeous  liveries  ;  lie  drove  about 
in  costly  equipages ;  and  lived  upon  a  scale  of  extrava- 
gance beyond  what  his  rank  required.  He  was,  moreover, 
fluent    and    persuasive     of    speech.      Angelica's    fame 


ANGELICA   KAUFMANN.  147 

attracted  his  notice  ;  he  obtained  an  introduction  to  her, 
courted  her,  at  length  fascinated  her,  and  after  a  brief 
delay  they  were  married.  Shortly  after  the  marriage  a 
terrible  truth  came  to  light :  the  pretended  count  was  no 
count  at  all,  but  an  imposter,  a  scoundrel  who  had 
formerly  been  in  the  service  of  a  nobleman  bearing  the 
name  and  title  which  he  had  assumed. 

For  a  time  his  unfortunate  wife  was  overwhelmed  by 
the  shame  and  horror  of  this  discovery.  She  left  him  at 
once,  and,  at  length.,  thanks  to  the  exertions  of  Sir 
Joshua  and  other  influential  friends,  the  marriage  was 
annulled.  She  gradually  recovered  from  the  shock,  and 
devoted  herself  with  increased  earnestness  to  her  art, 
encouraged  and  assisted  by  Reynolds.  It  was  probably 
due  to  him  that  her  name  is  found  among  the  signatures 
to  the  famous  petition  to  the  king  for  the  establishment 
of  the  Royal  Academy.  In  its  first  catalogue  her  name 
appears,  followed  by  the  "R.  A.,"  and  she  contributed 
four  classical  compositions,  one  representing  the  Parting 
of  Hector  and  Andromache.  The  honor  of  membership 
she  shared  with  one  other  lady,  Mary  Moser.  From  this 
time  she  was  an  annual  contributor  to  the  Academy,  send- 
ing occasionally  as  many  as  seven  pictures,  usually  upon 
classical  or  allegorical  subjects.  In  1778  she  exhibited 
one  of  her  most  noted  productions,  representing  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  expiring  in  the  arms  of  Francis  the  First. 
Previous  to  this  she  had  been,  with  others,  appointed  by 
the  Academy  to  the  honorable  task  of  decorating  St. 
Paul's,  and  it  was  she  who,  in  concert  with  Beaggio 
Rebecca,  painted  the  Academy's  old  lecture-room  at 
Somerset  House. 

In  1781,  after  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  she  was 
again  married,  this  time  happily.  The  man  of  her  choice 
was  Antonio  Zucchi,  a  Venetian  landscape  painter  then 
living  in  England,  where  his  works  met  with  much  favor. 


148  ANGELICA   KAUFMANN. 

After  the  wedding  she  and  her  husband  removed  to 
Venice,  and  the  remainder  of  her  life  was  spent  in  Italy. 
For  a  few  years  she  enjoyed  a  life  of  tranquil  industry ; 
then  again  misfortune  came  upon  her.  She  lost  her 
fortune,  and  her  husband  died. 

"Poverty  does  not  terrify  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "but 
isolation  kills  me  !  " 

Even  her  art  failed  her.  She  ceased  to  paint,  and 
drooped  beneath  a  constantly  increasing  melancholy. 
She  was  in  Rome  when  it  was  invaded  by  the  French,  and 
although  treated  with  distinction  by  the  conquerors,  her 
grief  was  increased  by  the  fall  of  her  beloved  city.  She 
never  recovered  her  health,  but  slowly  sank  under  the 
burden  of  a  sorrow  which  she  could  not  control,  and  died 
in  November,  1807.  She  was  buried  in  the  chapel  of  St. 
Andrea  delle  Frate,  and  was  honored  by  a  splendid  funeral 
under  the  direction  of  Canova.  The  Academy  of  St. 
Luke  followed  her  in  a  body  to  the  grave,  and,  as  at  the 
funeral  of  Raphael,  two  of  her  pictures  were  carried  in 
the  procession.     They  were  the  two  last  she  had  painted. 

People  to  day  are  not  fond  of  allegorical  subjects  and 
classical  groups,  unless  exceptionally  treated.  The 
loftier  attempts  of  Angelica  Kaufmann  (she  retained  her 
maiden  name  until  her  death)  have  lost  much  of  their 
charm ;  but  those  who  have  seen  the  photographs  of  her 
"  Vestal  Virgin  "  which  are  to  be  found  in  our  art  stores, 
will  admit  that  in  simpler  subjects  her  style  is  graceful, 
pleasing,  and  expressive. 


XI. 

BARONESS  BURDETT-COUTTS. 

THERE  was  upon  the  London  stage,  in  the  year  1815, 
a  pretty  actress  named  Harriet  Mellon.  Her  abili- 
ties, though  by  no  means  commanding,  were  yet  consid- 
erable, and  in  a  certain  line  of  parts  she  was  at  that 
time  without  a  superior.  She  played  soubrette  roles,  for 
which  she  was  fitted  by  her  style  of  beauty  and  her 
vivacious  manners.  Leigh  Hunt  refers  to  her  with 
praise,  speaking  especially  of  her  acting  of  chamber- 
maids' parts. 

"  She  catches  with  wonderful  discrimination,"  he  says, 
"  their  probable  touches  of  character  and  manner." 

Besides  being  an  agreeable  actress,  Miss  Mellon  was  a 
person  of  unblemished  reputation  at  a  time  when  there 
were  many  engaged  in  her  profession  of  whom  the  same 
could  not  be  said.  Her  first  London  engagement  was 
obtained  through  the  efforts  of  Sheridan,  who  was  visit- 
ing a  friend,  a  banker,  in  the  town  of  Stafford,  while  she 
was  acting  there  with  a  strolling  company.  This  gentle- 
man's daughters  had  made  her  acquaintance,  and  were  so 
greatly  pleased  with  her  that  they  insisted  on  Sheridan's 
going  to  see  her  act.  He  did  this,  and  was  so  well  satis- 
fied that  shortly  afterward  he  obtained  her  a  situation  at 
the  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  where  she  first  appeared  as 
Lydia  Languish  in  his  own  play  of  The  Rivals.  Her 
success  was  immediate,  and  she  was  for  several  years  a 
favorite  with  London  audiences. 

Among  the  frequenters  of  the  theater  where  she  per- 

(149) 


150  BARONESS    BUR.DETT-COUTTS. 

formed  was  Thomas  Coutts,  a  "well-known  banker  of  great 
wealth.  Although  a  man  of  business,  and  famous  for 
his  success  in  the  business  world,  he  possessed  a  marked 
taste  for  literature  and  the  drama,  and  counted  among 
his  friends  many  of  the  most  noted  authors  and  actors  of 
the  day.  l\or  was  he  without  a  tinge  of  romance  in  his 
composition,  and  the  unusual  circumstances  of  his  first 
marriage  were  no  secret.  His  wife,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Elizabeth  Starker,  was  in  the  house  of  his  niece  in 
the  capacity  of  a  servant,  when  he  fell  in  love  with  her 
and  married  her.  They  lived  together  very  happily  for 
many  years,  and  had  three  daughters,  Susan,  Frances, 
and  Sophia,  all  of  whom  grew  to  womanhood  and  made 
advantageous  marriages.  About  1815  Mrs.  Coutts  died, 
and  not  very  long  afterward  the  widower,  then  eighty- 
four  years  of  age,  became  enamored  of  Miss  Mellon,  pro* 
cured  an  introduction  to  her,  courted  her,  and  married 
her. 

The  young  lady  was  accustomed  to  relate  that  the  first 
she  knew  of  her  future  husband  was  his  sending  her  five 
guineas  on  her  benefit  night ;  and  these  coins  she  never 
spent,  keeping  them  always  laid  carefully  away  by  them- 
selves. Upon  her  marriage  she  retired  from  the  stage, 
and  made  a  most  excellent  and  devoted  wife  to  her  very 
aged  husband  during  the  remaining  seven  years  of  his 
life.  "When  he  died,  at  the  age  of  ninety-one,  he  be- 
queathed to  her  the  whole  of  his  immense  wealth.  At 
the  expiration  of  five  years  she  married  again,  becoming 
the  wife  of  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans.  Ten  years  later 
she  died,  leaving  the  fortune  which  she  had  received 
from  her  first  husband  to  his  grandchild,  Miss  Angela 
Burdett,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  Francis  Burdctt 
and  of  his  wife,  Sophia  Coutts.  The  sole  condition 
attached  to  the  inheritance  was,  that  the  young  lady,  in 
addition  to  her  own  name  and  arms,  should  adopt  the 
name  and  arms  of  Coutts. 


BARONESS    BURDETT-COUTTS.  1£J 

Tlic  fortune,  at  the  time  Miss  Burdett-Coutts  received 
it,  was  estimated  at  about  three  million  pounds  sterling. 
To  make  a  proper  use  of  so  vast  a  sum  is  in  itself  a 
career,  and  an  arduous,  difficult  career.  Miss  Burdett- 
Coutts — or  simply  Miss  Coutts,  as  she  "was  usually  called 
— perceived  this,  and  devoted  herself  with  courage, 
constancy,  and  intelligence  to  the  task  of  wielding 
worthily  the  powerful  instrument  for  good  or  for  evil 
which  had  been  entrusted  to  her  hands.  The  mistakes 
which  she  has  made  in  this  endeavor  have  not  been  few, 
nor  insignificant ;  her  successes  have  been  many  and 
glorious. 

She  is  a  lady  who  can  listen  to  advice  ;  but,  also,  she 
is  capable  of  deciding  whether  the  advice  is  good  or 
otherwise,  and  of  acting  according  to  her  decision.  She 
had  common  sense,  reasonable  docility,  and  a  strong  will. 
A  person  in  her  position  needs  to  be  able  to  say  No,  per- 
haps even  more  than  to  be  able  to  say  Yes,  and  Miss 
Coutts  has  always  been  able  to  utter  the  harder  mono- 
syllable. This  useful  quality  of  decision  she  probably 
derived  from  her  father,  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  who  was  a 
man  of  strong  and  peculiar  character.  Impressed  while 
traveling  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  with 
the  most  ultra-liberal  ideas,  Sir  Francis,  on  his  return  to 
England,  gave  open  expression  to  them  in  private  and 
in  Parliament.  For  a  letter  which  he  wrote  to  his  con- 
stituents denying  the  right  of  government  to  commit  for 
libel  (as  had  recently  been -done)  his  arrest  was  ordered 
by  the  House  of  Commons.  Officers  were  sent  to  his 
house,  but  he  refused  to  surrender,  barricaded  the  doors 
and  windows,  and  maintained  the  siege  for  three  days,  at 
the  end  of  which  he  was  captured  with  much  difficulty. 
Another  letter,  written  at  the  time  of  the  Manchester 
riots,  brought  upon  him  a  trial  for  libel ;  he  was  found 
guilty  and  sentenced  to  three  months'  imprisonment  and 
a  fine  of  a  thousand  pounds. 


152  BARONESS   BURDETT-COUTTS. 

A  daughter  of  this  vigorous  gentleman  we  should 
scarcely  expect  to  find  lacking  in  firmness . 

Miss  Coutts  has  given  large  sums  of  money  to  public 
charities  which  she  knew  to  be  useful  and  carefully  con- 
ducted. In  this  way  she  has  done  much  good  ;  but  she 
has  not  contented  herself  with  beneficence  made  easy. 
She  has  herself  originated  and  founded  charities  ;  she  has 
by  her  own  efforts  abolished  abuses :  and  she  has 
matured  educational  schemes  which  her  government  has 
seen  fit  to  approve  and  adopt. 

A  member  of  the  Church  of  England,  liberal  in  her 
views,  always  tolerant  of  those  who  differ,  while  ardently 
upholding  her  own  faith,  she  has  long  been  known  for 
her  munificence  toward  religious  objects.  She  has  con- 
tributed toward  the  building  of  numerous  churches,  and 
has  erected  two  solely  at  her  own  expense — one  at  Car- 
lisle, the  other  St.  Stephen's  at  Westminster,  a  beautiful 
edifice,  with  a  parsonage  and  three  schools  belonging  to 
it.  The  three  colonial  bishoprics  of  Adelaide,  Cape 
Town,  and  British  Columbia,  were  founded  and  endowed 
by  her  at  an  expense  amounting  in  all  to  nearly  fifty 
thousand  pounds.  She  also  founded  in  South  Australia 
an  establishment  for  the  improvement  of  the  natives. 
She  procured  Greek  manuscripts  from  the  East,  for  the 
purpose  of  verifying  the  New  Testament.  She  supplied 
the  funds  for  Sir  Henry  James's  Topographical  Survey  of 
Jerusalem,  and  offered  to  restore  the  ancient  aqueducts 
of  Solomon  to  provide  the  city  with  water;  but  the 
government,  although  it  accepted  her  proposal  and 
promised  the  work  should  be  accomplished  (at  her 
expense),  neglected  to  keep  its  word. 

With  regard  to  matters  of  education,  Miss  Coutts  has 
been  equally  active  in  her  sympathies.  Observing  that  in 
the  national  schools  girls  were  taught  many  things  which 
the  majority  of  them  would  not  require  upon  leaving  the 


BARONESS   BETRDETT-COUTTS.  153 

institution,  while  sewing  and  other  familiar  household 
branches  were  ignored,  she  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost 
to  reverse  this  arrangement,  and,  in  the  end,  after  much 
delay  and  difficulty,  with  success.  Then  in  order  that 
remote  rural  schools  and  those  of  neglected  city  suburbs 
might  be  enabled  to  undergo  the  government  inspection 
necessary  before  receiving  their  share  of  the  public  money 
granted  for  educational  purposes,  she  worked  out  a  plan 
for  having  them  visited  by  regularly  appointed  traveling 
school-masters.  This  scheme  was  submitted  to  the  Privy 
Council  and  adopted. 

But  it  is  perhaps  within  the  area  of  the  city  of  London 
that  Miss  Coutts'  good  works  have  been  most  successful, 
or,  at  least,  that  their  results  are  most  apparent.  She 
founded  there  a  shelter  and  reformatory  for  young  women 
who  had  gone  astray.  Of  those  who  received  its  benefits 
during  a  period  of  seven  years,  half  were  known  to  have 
begun  new  lives,  to  have  remained  virtuous  and  become 
fairly  prosperous,  in  the  colonies.  In  Spitalfields,  when  that 
region  of  London  had  become  a  haunt  of  misery  and  des- 
titution, she  established  a  sewing  school  for  grown 
women,  where  they  were  not  only  taught,  but  provided 
with  food  and  work — government  contracts  being  under- 
taken for  them  and  executed  by  their  labor.  From  this 
institution  nurses  arc  sent  out  among  the  sick  of  the 
neighborhood,  who  are  supplied  with  wine  and  proper  nour- 
ishment. Thence,  too,  outfits  are  provided  for  poor  serv- 
ants, and  winter  clothes  distributed  among  needy  women. 

In  the  same  squalid  region  was  a  place,  a  plague-spot 
upon  the  city  for  years,  known  and  dreaded  by  the  police 
under  the  title  of  Nova  Scotia  Gardens.  This  place  Miss 
Coutts  purchased,  and,  clearing  the  ground  of  all  the 
refuse,  filth,  and  squalor  that  had  so  long  polluted  it,  she 
erected  thereon  the  block  of  model  dwellings,  now  called 
Columbia  Square.  This  block  consists  of  separate  tcne- 
10 


ments  let  at  low  weekly  rents;  it  is  occupied  to-day  by 
more  than  three  hundred  families.  Within  a  short  dis- 
tance stands  Columbia  Market,  one  of  the  most  magnifi- 
cent buildings  in  northeastern  London,  and  connected 
with  the  Great  Eastern  Railway  by  a  horse-car  railroad 
under  especial  parliamentary  regulations.  This  spacious 
and  costly  edifice  was  presented  by  Miss  Coutts  as  a  free 
gift  to  the  Corporation  of  London,  in  order  that  cheap 
and  wholesome  food,  particularly  fish,  might  be  con- 
veniently supplied  to  a  neighborhood  more  than  all  others 
in  need  of  it. 

In  Victoria.  Park  near  by,  stands  a  superb  drinking 
fountain  ;  another  for  both  men  and  animals  adorns  the 
entrance  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  Regent's  Park,  and 
a  third  stands  close  to  Columbia  Market  itself.  All  these 
are  the  gifts  of  the  same  generous  lady. 

Among  the  miscellaneous  charities  of  Miss  Coutts  may 
be  mentioned  an  arrangement  with  Sir  Samuel  Cunard  by 
which,  in  a  time  of  great  distress,  many  families  were 
enabled  to  emigrate.  Again,  when  the  people  of  Girvan 
in  Scotland  were  reduced  to  extremities,  she  advanced  a 
large  amount  of  money  to  enable  those  who  wished  to  do 
so  to  seek  better  fortune  in  Australia.  In  Ireland,  too, 
when  the  people  of  Cape  Clear  near  Skibbereen  Avere 
perishing  of  starvation,  she  sent  them  food,  clothes,  and 
money,  assisted  many  to  emigrate,  and  provided  a  vessel 
and  suitable  fishing  tackle  to  enable  others  to  carry  on 
more  efficiently  their  old  means  of  earning  a  livelihood. 
She  also  greatly  aided  Sir  James  Brooke  in  improving 
and  civilizing  the  Dyaks  of  Sarawak,  and  a  model  farm 
is  still  carried  on  in  that  region  at  her  expense,  from 
which  the  natives  acquire  some  knowledge  of  agricul- 
ture. Already,  it  is  said,  the  productiveness  of  their 
country  has  been  much  improved. 

One  of  her  most  popular  schemes  was  the  establishment 


BARONESS    BURDETT-COUTTS.  100 

• 

of  the  "Shoe-black  Brigade,"  in  which  boys  were  tested  as 
to  their  real  character  and  general  fitness  for  promotion,  and 
in  due  time  were  provided  with  work  by  railway  companies 
or  were  admitted  to  the  army  or  navy  service.  A  most 
timely  and  helpful  act  was  the  institution  of  an  organization 
and  fund  for  the  relief  of  Turkish  and  Bulgarian  peasantry 
during  the  Russian  invasion,  in  connection  with  which  she 
sent  to  the  British  ambassador  more  than  §150,000.  In 
London,  where  her  labors  were  so  incessant,  she  connected 
with  the  emigration  scheme  a  reformatory  or  home  for  poor 
and  unfortunate  women,  which  was  established  at  Shepherd's 
Bush,  in  London.  After  a  period  of  seven  years'  residence 
and  training  in  this  noble  institution,  the  inmates  were  sent 
to  the  colonies  to  start  life  afresh,  which  many  of  them  did 
most  worthily. 

It  will  not  surprise  our  readers  to  learn  that  the  Baroness 
is  the  Patron  of  the  Royal  Society  for  the  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Animals.  The  deep,  tender  feeling  towards 
suffering  humanity  which  is  the  spring  of  all  her  charities 
to  the  poor,  could  not  exist  in  a  bosom  inaccessible  to  the 
unworded  appeals  of  the  lower  animals  in  their  sufferings. 
Her  exertions  on  behalf  of  the  society  have  been  unremit- 
ting, and  they  are  singularly  illustrative  of  her  sympathetic 
and  kindly  nature.  No  pain  that  can  be  spared  or  alleviated 
seems  to  escape  her  watchful  eye.  To  mention  a  single  ex- 
ample :  Some  years  ago  she  wrote  to  the  London  Times 
(September  14th,  1869),  complaining  of  the  cruel  usage  to 
which  cattle  were  subjected,  and  suggesting  "to  all  persons 
engaged  in  teaching,  in  whatever  rank  of  life,  that  some 
plan  should  be  adopted  for  inculcating,  in  a  definite  manner, 
principles  of  humanity  towards  animals,  and  a  knowledge 
of  their  structure,  treatment  and  value  to  man."  The  cat- 
tle sent  up  to  London  from  the  remote  districts  of  England 
and  Scotland  used  to  suffer  intensely  in  their  transit  by 
railway  from  thirst,  and  often  from  hunger.     At  her  own 


156 


BARONESS    BURDETT-COUTTS. 


expense  she  provided  the  fittings  for  trucks  constructed  so 
as  to  enable  the  cattle  to  eat  and  drink  on  the  road  to  Lon- 
don, and  such  trucks  are  now  in  general  use  on  all  the 
great  railroads. 

In  all  these  widely  varied  schemes  she  was  a  thoughtful 
and  conscientious  worker.  On  coming  into  possession  of 
her  wealth  in  1837,  she  began  a  life  of  studious  and  system- 
atic beneficence,  giving  largely,  not  to  one  particular  favor- 
ite scheme  of  charity,  but  to  many  and  widely-differing 
objects;  and  not  indiscriminately,  but  considerately,  by 
keeping  statistics  of  work  accomplished  and  to  be  accom- 
plished, and  gathering  innumerable  facts  with  painstaking 
care,  that  her  noble  deeds  might  not  fail  of  their  intention. 
This  method  of  action  she  never  abandoned.  The  evil 
effects  usually  attending  lavish  gifts,  such  as  injuring  the 
self-reliance  and  self-respect  of  recipients  or  encouraging 
pauperism,  she  avoided  as  far  as  possible  by  most  vigilant 
and  continuous  supervision. 

Miss  Coutts'  private  charities  it  is  of  course  impossible 
to  estimate;  but  they  are  known  to  have  been  large.  She 
has  always  been  a  liberal  and  discriminating  patron 
of  music,  painting,  and  the  drama.  She  possesses  many 
valuable  works  of  art,  selected  with  excellent  taste  and 
judgment,  and  arranged  in  the  most  favorable  manner. 
The  entertainments  given  at  her  house  have  been  fre- 
quently graced  by  the  presence  and  talents  of  the  best 
actors  and  singers  of  the  day,  while  the  conversation  has 
been  of  the  animated  kind  that  occurs  when  artists, 
authors,  men  of  science,  and  men  of  the  world  mingle 
freely  in  discussion  or  exchange  interesting  glimpses 
of  their  different  professions  and  experiences.  Her 
hospitality  has  been  at  times  upon  the  most  gener- 
ous scale.  Upon  one  occasion  she  gave  a  dinner  party 
(one  of  the  largest  upon  record)  to  two  thousnnd  Belgian 
volunteers,  who    were    invited    to   meet  the   Prince  and 


BARONESS    BURDETT-COUTTS.  157 

Princess  of  Wales,  and  five  hundred  other  distinguished 
guests.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  immense  number  to  be 
accommodated,  we  are  assured  that  the  entertainment 
passed  off  as  easily  and  pleasantly  as  if  there  had  been  but 
a  dozen  people  present. 

She  is  hospitable  to  the  poor  as  well  as  to  the  wealthy. 
The  beautiful  garden  and  grounds  of  her  villa  at  High- 
gate  are  open  to  school  children,  who  visit  them  literally 
in  thousands. 

The  public  and  patriotic  benevolence  of  Miss  Coutts 
has  not  passed  unrecognized.  She  is,  and  has  long  been, 
one  of  the  most  beloved  women  in  England.  Mr.  Julian 
Young  relates  that  in  1868,  when  the  great  Reform  pro- 
cession was  passing  her  house,  she  was  at  the  window  look- 
ing on,  accompanied  by  himself  and  a  group  of  friends. 

"  Though  she  stood  more  out  of  sight  than  any  of  us," 
he  says,  "  in  one  instant  a  shout  was  raised.  For  upwards 
of  two  hours  and  a  half  the  air  rang  with  the  reiterated 
huzzas — huzzas  unanimous  and  heart-felt,  as  if  represent- 
ing a  national  sentiment." 

In  June,  1871,  the  Queen  bestowed  upon  Miss  Coutts  a 
peerage,  and  she  became  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts.  In 
1872,  she  was  admitted  to  the  freedom  of  the  city  of 
London,  and  in  1874  to  that  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh. 

In  1881,  she  was  married  to  Mr.  William  Aslmicad- 
Bartlett,  an  American  gentleman  naturalized  in  England, 
who  had  long  been  her  confidential  adviser,  friend,  and 
man  of  business.  Some  were  surprised  by  this  marriage, 
their  grounds  of  objection  being  the  difference  in  age 
between  the  parties,  Mr.  Ashmead-Bartlett  being  the 
younger  of  the  two,  and  also  the  fact  that  a  portion  of  the 
Baroness's  property  was  held  upon  such  a  tenure  that  she 
forfeited  it  if  she  married.  For  the  first  objection,  it  was 
certainly  the  affair  of  no  one  but  the  two  most  intimately 
concerned,  and   their  minds  were  already  made  up  in 


158  BARONESS    BURDETT-COUTTS. 

regard  to  it;  for  the  second,  it  was  evident  that  she  could 
afford  the  loss.  Neither  of  them  appeared  at  all  disturbed 
by  the  stir  which  their  engagement  created,  and  the  wed- 
ding took  place  in  due  season,  the  bridesmaids  upon  the 
occasion  being  little  girls  carrying  large  bouquets. 

It  is  not  desirable,  perhaps,  that  an  individual,  and  least 
of  all  a  lady,  should  be  burthened  with  the  care  and 
expenditure  of  so  great  an  estate  as  that  which  has  fallen 
to  her  lot,  and  it  is  probable  that,  as  society  matures  and 
social  science  is  perfected,  such  anomalies  will  cease  to 
exist.  It  is  also  true  that  the  best  schemes  which  she 
has  executed  belonged  properly  to  the  government  of  her 
country.  Such  scenes  of  pollution  as  Nova  Scotia  Gardens 
could  not  be  permitted  by  a  government  attentive  to  its 
duties.  But  so  long  as  governments  expend  their  chief 
energies  and  a  great  part  of  their  resources  upon  distant 
and  illegitimate  objects,  leaving  their  very  capitals  to 
grow  foul  and  hellish  under  their  eyes,  so  long  will 
it  be  necessary  for  private  generosity  to  mitigate  evils 
which  only  the  well  directed  resources  of  the  whole 
people  could  remove. 


«J 


4v 


XII. 

GIRLHOOD  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH. 

IF  the  great  Elizabeth  was  the  most  wary  of  sovereigns, 
it  was  because  she  grew  from  childhood  to  maturity 
with  the  headsman's  axe  always  before  her,  glittering  and 
terrible.  Her  first  recollection  must  have  been  of  her 
father's  awful  frown.  Henry  VIII  had  put  away  his  law- 
ful wife,  Catherine  of  Aragon,  and  married  Anne  Boleyn, 
hoping  thereby  to  get  an  heir  to  his  throne.  He  had 
longed  for  a  son,  and  it  was  a  daughter  who  came. 

From  that  hour  the  heart  of  the  king  was  dead  to  his 
wife,  and  this  became  more  and  more  manifest  from  day 
to  day.  Elizabeth  was  born  and  lived  the  first  three  years 
of  her  life  in  the  palace  of  Greenwich  on  the  Thames,  a 
few  miles  below  London,  a  palace  which  is  now  the  naval 
hospital.  On  the  day  of  Anne  Boleyn's  arrest  she  made 
one  last  attempt  to  soften  the  heart  of  her  husband. 
Seeing  him  standing  at  a  window  she  approached  as  a 
suppliant,  holding  out  to  him  with  her  hand  their  only 
child,  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  then  a  little  more  than  three 
years  old.  He  frowned  upon  them  both,  turned  toward 
the  window  again,  and  with  a  menacing  gesture  ordered 
them  away.  Before  the  sun  set  the  traitor's  gate  of  the 
Tower  opened  to  receive  one  of  the  royal  barges,  which 
contained  this  hapless  queen,  destined  ere  long  to  lay  her 
beautiful  head  upon  the  block. 

The  little  girl  was  sent  to  one  of  the  king's  houses  at 
Hunsdon,  thirty  miles  north  of  London,  with  her  govern- 
ess, Lady  Bryan,  a  relation  of  her  dead   mother.     The 

(161) 


1G2  GIRLHOOD   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

king  appeared  to  have  forgotten  her  and  left  her  unpro- 
vided with  many  things  that  a  child  needs.  Her  gov- 
erness, not  daring  to  address  the  king,  who  was  absorbed 
then  in  the  pursuit  of  a  new  wife,  wrote  to  a  gentleman 
of  the  court,  begging  him  to  intercede  and  cause  the  child 
to  be  furnished  with  suitable  clothing  and  other  articles 
necessary  to  her  comfort.     Lady  Bryan  wrote: 

"  She  hath  neither  gown  nor  kirtle,  nor  peticoat  nor  no 
manner  of  linen,  nor  forsmocks  (aprons),  nor  kerchiefs, 
nor  rails,  nor  body  stichets,  nor  handkerchiefs,  nor  sleeves, 
nor  mufflers,  norbiggens"  (hoods). 

She  entreats  her  correspondent  to  use  all  his  influence 
to  get  the  king  to  supply  these  articles,  and  to  soften  his 
heart  toward  the  family  of  Anne  Boleyn,  suddenly  reduced 
from  royal  state  to  poverty  and  disgrace.  The  governess 
added  that  her  "  Lady  Elizabeth  "  had  much  pain  in  get- 
ting her  large  teeth. 

"They  come  very  slowly  forth,"  she  wrote,  "which 
causeth  me  to  suffer  Her  Grace  to  have  her  will  more 
than  I  would." 

Mothers  who  have  teething  children  can  understand 
this  passage  perfectly  well.  The  governess  goes  on  to 
say  that  when  the  little  lady  had  got  all  her  teeth  well 
cut,  she  hoped  to  make  her  better  behaved,  so  that  "  the 
King's  Grace  shall  have  great  comfort  in  Her  Grace." 
She  described  her  as  a  promising  and  gentle  child,  and 
one  that  would  do  great  honor  to  the  King  by  and  by. 

The  biggins,  the  kerchiefs,  and  the  body  stichets  arrived 
before  long,  and  the  child  appears  to  have  enjoyed  some 
of  the  comfort  and  dignity  appertaining  to  her  rank. 
Meanwhile,  Henry  VIII  married  his  third  wife,  Jane 
Seymour,  who  gave  him  the  long  desired  heir,  the  prince 
who  afterwards  reigned  as  Edward  VI.  The  Princess 
Elizabeth's  first  appearance  in  public  was  at  the  baptism 
of  this  child,  born  little  more  than  a  year  after  her  own 


GIRLHOOD    OF    QUEEN    ELIZABETH.  163 

mother's  death.  At  the  baptism  her  sister  Mary,  seven- 
teen years  older  than  herself,  led  Elizabeth  to  the  font, 
where  she  also  held  the  infant  in  her  arms.  Elizabeth 
was  then  four  years  old,  but  she  already  showed  a  certain 
prudence  and  propriety  of  demeanor  not  usual  in  so 
young  a  child. 

These  two  children,  four  years  apart  in  age,  spent  much 
of  their  childhood  together,  having  some  of  the  same 
teachers,  and  pursuing  the  same  studies.  They  appear 
to  have  been  tenderly  attached  to  one  another.  Once 
when  they  were  parted,  Elizabeth  proposed  a  correspond- 
ence, and  Edward's  answer  to  the  proposal  has  been  pre- 
served. It  is  very  much  such  a  letter  as  an  intelligent 
boy  of  ten  might  now  write  to  a  sister  of  fourteen  who 
had  gone  into  the  country. 

At  length,  that  monstrous  father  of  theirs  died,  and 
the  little  boy  was  styled  king.  They  had  an  interview 
before  Edward  went  away  to  London  to  be  invested  with 
royal  state,  and,  strange  to  say,  they  both  shed  tears 
while  conversing  of  their  father's  death.  In  their  subse- 
quent correspondence,  too,  they  spoke  of  their  father  as 
if  he  had  been  an  affectionate  parent,  and  the  young  king 
even  congratulates  his  sister  upon  the  fortitude  with  which 
she  had  borne  and  was  bearing  their  father's  death. 

We  should  suppose  that  the  dangers  which  had  sur- 
rounded the  childhood  of  Elizabeth  were  now  at  an  end. 
The  brother  with  whom  she  had  studied  side  by  side,  and 
who  was  strongly  attached  to  her,  was  nominally  King  of 
England ;  but  he  was  only  a  boy ;  studious  indeed,  and 
thoughtful  beyond  his  years,  but  not  robust  in  body  or 
mind,  and  doomed  to  early  death.  The  power  of  the 
realm  was  wielded  by  ambitious  nobles,  who  endeavored 
in  various  ways  to  use  the  young  Princess  Elizabeth  for 
their  own  ends.  Her  head  was  never  quite  safe  upon  her 
shoulders,  and  even  her  maidenly  character  Avas  not  spared. 


164  GIRLHOOD    OF    QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 

The  manners  of  the  age  were  rude,  and  she  was  closely 
watched  by  hostile  spies. 

Her  brother  Edward,  however,  remained  her  steadfast 
friend,  and  she  herself  acquired  an  extraordinary  tact  and 
caution  in  avoiding  the  perils  which  beset  her.  When 
she  was  seventeen  and  the  king  thirteen,  he  made  her  a 
present-  of  a  country  house  at  Hatfield,  a  day's  ride  north 
of  London,  now  the  seat  of  Lord  Salisbury,  a  member  of 
the  last  Beaconsfield  Cabinet.  Here  she  maintained  a 
liberal  establishment,  and  had  a  considerable  retinue  of 
servants  and  retainers. 

In  one  of  these  retainers  she  was  fortunate  above  all 
the  princesses  of  her  time.  I  mean  Roger  Ascham,  her 
tutor,  and  afterwards  her  secretary.  In  truth  the  school 
children  of  all  the  world  might  very  properly  unite  in 
building  a  monument  to  Roger  Ascham.  He  was  the 
great  apostle  of  the  gentle  and  kind  system  of  teaching. 
He  was  among  the  first  to  discover  and  to  teach  that 
there  are  other  ways  of  training  and  instructing  the 
young  than  by  the  lash.  He  was  also  the  first  to  come 
out  distinctly  against  the  cramming  and  forcing  system. 
Over  and  over  again,  he  advises  schoolmasters  not  to 
teach  their  pupils  too  much  and  too  long. 

"  If,"  said  he  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  if  you  pour  much 
drink  at  once  into  a  goblet,  the  most  part  will  dash  out 
and  run  over." 

He  was  born  in  England  about  1515,  and  showed  such 
excellent  traits  in  his  childhood  that  a  gentleman  of  rank 
and  wealth  took  him  into  his  family,  educated  him  with 
his  own  children,  and  sent  him  to  the  University  of  Cam- 
bridge. After  graduating,  he  became  a  tutor  at  Cam- 
bridge, where  he  was  the  room-mate  for  several  years  of 
William  Grindall,  who  was  appointed  tutor  to  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Ascham  himself  had  given  lessons  in  pen- 
manship to  the  children  of  Henry  VIII.     He   wrote  a 


GIRLHOOD   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH.  1G5 

beautiful  Hand.  Readers  who  have  seen  the  writing  of 
Queen  Elizabeth  must  have  noticed  how  elegantly  and 
clearly  she  wrote ;  and  it  was  from  Roger  Ascham  that 
she  learned  how  to  use  the  pen  so  well. 

The  princess,  when  she  was  a  young  lady,  remembered 
with  pleasure  her  old  writing  master,  and  William  Grin- 
dall  frequently  wrote  to  his  tutor  at  the  University,  ask- 
ing his  advice  how  to  proceed  with  his  distinguished  pupil. 
The  consequence  was  that  when  Grindall  suddenly  died 
of  the  plague,  the  princess  asked  that  Roger  Ascham 
might  be  appointed  his  successor.  Her  request  was 
granted ;  Ascham  resigned  a  Cambridge  professorship, 
and  went  to  live  at  the  court  of  the  princess. 

He  was  one  of  the  most  learned  and  accomplished  men 
then  living ;  an  excellent  mathematician,  well  versed  in 
the  Greek  language,  an  enthusiast  for  Greek  art  and 
learning,  a  musician,  a  man  of  wit,  taste,  and  agreeable 
conversation.  The  princess  became  warmly  attached  to 
him,  and,  with  some  intervals,  he  remained  in  her  service 
all  the  rest  of  his  life.  There  was  a  great  revival  of 
learning  in  England  then,  and  many  a  promising  child 
fell  a  victim  to  the  excessive  zeal  of  teachers.  Elizabeth's 
own  brother,  the  young  King  Edward,  probably  owed  his 
premature  death  to  this  cause.  He  was  early  put  to 
studying  the  works  of  Cyprian,  Jerome,  Augustine,  Plato, 
Cicero,  Seneca,  and  a  long  list  of  other  authors,  Greek 
and  Latin,  pagan  and  Christian.  The  poor,  sickly  little 
king  was  crammed  to  death.  Five  times  a  week,  we  are 
told,  his  tutor  and  himself  studied  together  in  the  morn- 
ing, Herodotus,  Isocrates,  and  Demosthenes,  and  in  the 
afternoon,  by  way  of  recreation,  they  translated  one  of 
the  Greek  tragedies. 

Roger  Ascham,  alive  to  the  danger  of  dealing  thus  with 
the  tender  mind  of  youth,  pursued  an  opposite  course, 
and  with  such  success  that  his  royal  pupil  became  one  of 


166  GIRLHOOD   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

the  most  learned  of  women ;  perhaps  the  most  learned 
woman  of  her  day.  Among  his  writings  is  a  treatise  on 
the  art  of  teaching,  in  which  he  explains  his  method ;  a 
work  which,  I  suppose,  has  had  more  effect  in  softening 
the  modes  of  training  the  young  than  any  other  of  the 
kind  in  the  English  language.  The  reader  will  be  amused 
at  its  quaint,  old-fashioned  title-page,  which  I  will  here 
copy  with  its  ancient  spelling: 

"  The  Scholemaster,  or  plaine  and  perfite  way  of 
teachynge  children  to  understand,  write  and  speak  the 
Latin  tongue,  but  specially  purposed  for  the  private 
brynging  up  of  youth  in  Jentlemen  and  Noblemen's 
houses,  and  commodious  also  for  all  such  as  have  forgot 
the  Latin  tongue,  and  would  by  themselves  without  a 
Scholemaster  in  short  tyme,  and  with  small  paines  recover 
a  sufficient  habilitic  to  understand  write  and  speak  Latin." 

Before  the  appearance  of  this  wise  and  good  little  book, 
the  modes  of  education  were  almost  universally  barbarous, 
and  had  been  so  from  ancient  times.  In  the  buried  city 
of  Pompeii,  the  common  sign  of  a  school  was  a  picture 
or  carving  which  represented  the  master  whipping  a  boy 
upon  his  naked  back.  Luther  speaks  of  his  school  as  a 
purgatory,  and  mentions  that  in  the  course  of  one  morn- 
ing he  was  whipped  fifteen  times.  In  Shakespeare  there 
are  thirteen  allusions  to  going  to  school,  all  of  which  are 
in  harmony  with  the  well-known  passage  which  represents 
"  the  school-boy  creeping  like  a  snail  unwillingly  to 
school."  Children  had  to  learn  most  things  by  rote,  with 
little  explanation,  or  none,  and  for  every  offence  and 
every  infirmity  there  was  only  one  remedy,  bodily  torment. 
Roger  Ascham  rose  against  this  barbarous  system,  and 
denounced  it  with  quaint  but  eloquent  indignation.  Over 
and  over  again,  he  says  that  a  kind  and  gentle  manner, 
accompanied  by  just  praise  for  good  conduct,  would  pro- 
duce better  results  than  keeping  the  pupils  in  perpetual 
fear. 


GIRLHOOD    OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH.  167 

"  If  ten  gentlemen,"  lie  remarks,  "  be  asked  "why  they 
forgot  so  soon  in  court  that  which  they  were  learning  so 
long  in  school,  eight  of  them,  or  let  me  be  blamed,  will 
lay  the  fault  on  their  ill  handling  by  their  schoolmasters." 

A  school,  he  says,  should  be  "  a  sanctuary  against  fear," 
and  nothing  should  be  learned  unless  the  mind  of  the 
pupil  grasps  it  and  goes  along  with  it.  He  enforces  his 
doctrine  by  two  illustrious  examples,  Lady  Grey  and 
Queen  Elizabeth.  It  is  from  Roger  Ascham's  "  School- 
master "  that  we  have  those  agreeable  glimpses  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  which  have  made  her  name  so  interesting  to 
posterity.  Ascham  visited  her  at  her  father's  seat  when 
she  was  a  girl  of  fourteen,  and  found  her  reading  Plato, 
while  all  the  rest  of  the  family  were  out  hunting  in  the 
park.  He  asked  her  why  she  did  not  join  in  the  hunt. 
She  answered  with  a  smile  : 

"  I  wist  all  their  sport  is  but  a  shadow  to  that  pleasure 
that  I  find  in  Plato.  Alas,  good  folk  !  they  never  felt 
what  true  pleasure  meant." 

He  asked  her  how  she  acquired  this  taste  for  learning. 
Her  answer  shows  the  barbarous  manners  of  the  period, 
and  illustrates  in  the  most  striking  manner  Roger  Ascham's 
doctrine.  She  told  him  that  she  had  been  blessed  with 
severe  parents  and  a  gentle  schoolmaster.  When  she 
was  in  presence  cither  of  father  or  mother,  she  was 
always  in  trouble  or  disgrace. 

"  Whether  I  speak,  keep  silence,  sit,  stand,  or  go ;  cat, 
drink,  be  merry,  or  sad ;  be  sewing,  playing,  dancing,  or 
doing  anything  else,  I  must  do  it,  as  it  were,  in  such 
weight,  measure,  or  number,  and  even  so  perfectly  as  God 
made  the  world,  or  else  I  am  so  sharply  taunted,  so  cruelly 
threatened,  yea,  presently,  sometimes  with  pinches,  nips, 
and  bobs  (or  in  other  ways  which  I  will  not  name  for 
the  honor  I  bear  them),  so  without  measure  disordered, 
that  I  think  myself  in  hell." 


168  GIRLHOOD    OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

But  then,  she  added,  would  come  the  summons  to  her 
tutor,  Mr.  Elmer,  who  taught  so  gently  and  so  pleasantly 
that  time  passed  without  her  knowing  it,  and  she  cried 
when  obliged  to  leave  him.  Thus  it  was,  she  said,  that 
she  became  so  fond  of  learning. 

Ascham  dwells  fondly  upon  this  noble,  ill-starred  lady, 
and  claims  her  as  a  bright  proof  of  the  excellence  of  this 
gentle  sjrstem.  Not  less  docs  he  extol  his  own  pupil,  who 
was  Queen  when  he  wrote  this  book.  While  she  was  still 
under  his  care  he  was  full  of  enthusiasm  for  her  talents 
and  learning.  "  She  shone  like  a  star  among  all  the 
ladies  of  England."  She  had  "  the  genius  of  a  man, 
without  the  weakness  of  a  woman."  She  was  not  only  a 
deep  and  sound  theologian,  but  she  spoke  Latin  and  Greek 
so  well  that  she  could  defend  her  opinions  so  as  to  be 
victorious  over  the  most  learned  doctors.  When  she  was 
queen,  she  still  kept  up  her  habits  of  daily  study  with  her 
old  tutor. 

"  Point  forth,"  he  says,  "  six  of  the  best  given  gentle- 
men of  this  court,  and  they  altogether  show  not  so  much 
good  will,  spend  not  so  much  time,  bestow  not  so  many 
hours,  daily,  orderly,  and  constantly,  for  the  increase  of 
learning  and  knowledge,  as  doth  the  Queen's  majesty 
herself." 

He  declared  that,  besides  her  familiarity  with  Latin, 
Italian,  French,  and  Spanish,  all  of  which  she  had  occasion 
to  use  frequently  in  public  business,  she  read  more  Greek 
every  day  than  some  dignitaries  of  the  Church  read  of 
Latin  in  a  whole  week.  Seldom  has  a  work  been  written 
more  adroitly  than  this  Schoolmaster  of  Roger  Ascham. 
The  great  examples  which  he  adduces,  and  the  skillful 
manner  in  which  he  introduces  them,  greatly  contributed 
to  its  influence.  He  is  certainly  entitled  to  the  gratitude 
of  the  whole  world  of  scholars  and  students. 

He  died  in  1568,  in  his  fifty -fourth  year,  Queen  Eliza- 


GIRLHOOD   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH.  169 

beth  being  then  thirty-five  years  of  age.  When  the 
queen  heard  of  his  death  she  exclaimed  that  she  would 
rather  have  lost  ten  thousand  pounds  than  her  tutor 
Ascham.  Nevertheless,  she  did  not,  in  his  lifetime, 
compensate  him  too  liberally.  His  salary  was  twenty 
pounds  per  annum  ;  but  I  think  that  sum  was  fully  equal 
to  ten  times  the  amount  in  the  money  of  to-day. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  praises  which  Ascham 
bestowed  upon  the  queen  were  in  some  degree  deserved. 
She  was  in  truth  a  highly  educated  lady,  with  all  her 
foibles  and  faults.  At  Oxford  you  may  see  her  copy  of 
St.  Paul's  Epistles,  with  the  binding  ornamented  with 
designs  by  her  own  hand,  and  with  her  thoughts  written 
in  Latin  that  were  suggested  by  reading  the  epistles. 
We  have  also  some  verses  of  her  composition  which  are 
not  wanting  in  force  and  fluency.  She  did  credit  to  her 
schoolmaster. 

This  renowned  princess  in  some  particulars  lived  with 
extreme  simplicity,  for  even  kings  in  that  age  enjoyed 
few  of  the  comforts  and  decencies  of  civilization.  The 
housekeeping  books  of  some  of  the  great  families  of  that 
period  have  been  published,  from  which  we  learn  that  few 
houses  then  had  the  luxury  of  a  chimney,  and  that  only 
princes'  beds  were  provided  with  two  sheets.  Carpets 
were  unknown,  and  floors  were  strewn  with  rushes. 

The  household  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth  were  called  at 
six  in  the  morning,  and  the  whole  of  them,  perhaps  sixty 
in  number,  repaired  at  once  to  the  chapel,  where  Mass 
was  said,  as  the  Church  of  England  prayers  were  still 
frequently  called.  At  seven  o'clock  the  Princess  and  her 
ladies  sat  down  to  breakfast.  And  what  did  they  have  for 
breakfast  ?  Not  coffee,  tea,  chocolate,  or  cocoa.  Before 
each  person  was  placed  a  pewter  pot  of  beer,  and 
another  of  wine.  On  fast  days  the  breakfast  chiefly  con- 
sisted of  salt  fish,  and  on  other  days  a  great  joint  of 


170  GIRLHOOD    OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

mutton  or  beef,  with  bread.  Vegetables  were  few  in 
number,  and  only  of  the  coarser  kinds,  such  as  cabbages 
and  turnips.  The  potato  was  unknown,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  more  delicate  vegetables,  of  which  the  poorest 
family  now  has  a  share. 

It  is  really  surprising  to  read  of  the  way  in  which 
people  in  good  circumstances  were  then  accommodated. 
The  Princess  Elizabeth,  when  she  was  eighteen  years  of 
age,  may  have  had  slieets  upon  her  bed,  but  probably  she 
had  no  garment  similar  to  the  modern  nightgown.  Her 
bed  was  probably  stuffed  with  coarse  wool,  and  if  she 
had  a  pillow  at  all,  it  was  filled  with  bran,  or  chaff. 
Prosperous  farmers  in  that  age  slept  upon  straw  beds, 
and  had  "  a  good  round  log  under  their  head  for  a  pillow." 
As  for  servants,  they  lay  upon  the  straw  without  any 
intermediate  fabric  to  protect  what  an  old  writer  styles 
their  "  hardened  hycles." 

The  Princess  Elizabeth  may  have  had  one  or  two  silver 
spoons  for  her  own  use,  though  most  of  her  household 
had  spoons  only  of  pewter  or  wood.  And  yet  at  that 
time  people  wrote  of  the  prevalence  of  luxury,  and  of  the 
consequent  degeneracy  of  the  race,  just  as  we  do  in  these 
days.  The  historian  Hume  quotes  a  curious  passage  from 
an  author  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  : 

"  In  times  past  men  were  contented  to  dwell  in  houses 
buildcd  of  sallow,  willow,  etc.  ;  so  that  the  use  of  the  oak 
was  in  a  manner  dedicated  wholly  unto  churches,  religious 
houses,  princes'  palaces,  navigation,  etc.  ;  but  now  willow, 
etc.  are  rejected,  and  nothing  but  oak  anywhere  regarded. 
And  yet  see  the  change ;  for  when  our  houses  were 
builded  of  willow,  then  had  we  oaken  men  ;  but  now  that 
our  houses  are  come  to  be  made  of  oak,  our  men  are  not 
only  become  willow,  but  a  great  many  altogether  of  straw, 
which  is  a  sore  alteration.  Now  we  have  many  chimneys ; 
and  yet  our  tenderlines  complain  of  rheum,  catarrh,  and 
poses"  (colds). 


GIRLHOOD    OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH.  171 

This  fine  old  conservative  lamented  that  the  houses 
were  no  longer  filled  with  smoke,  which,  he  said,  not 
only  hardened  the  timber  of  a  house,  but  kept  the  good 
man  and  his  family  from  taking  cold  and  catching  disease. 

The  Princess  Elizabeth  was  twenty  years  of  age  when 
the  death  of  her  brother  Edward  VI  raised  to  the  throne 
her  sister  Mary.  Her  conduct  at  this  terrible  crisis  was 
equally  prudent  and  right.  The  ambitious  Northumber- 
land offered  her  money  and  lands  if  she  would  consent  to 
the  setting  aside  of  Mary,  and  the  elevation  to  the  throne 
of  Lady  Jane  Gray.  She  simply  and  firmly  replied  that, 
so  long  as  her  sister  Mary  was  alive,  she  had  no  rights  to 
the  throne  either  to  claim  or  to  surrender. 

During  the  reign  of  Mary  she  was  frequently  in  the 
most  imminent  and  deadly  peril ;  not  from  any  hostility 
borne  her  by  her  sister,  but  through  the  intrigues  of  cor- 
rupt and  ill-disposed  men  who  wished  to  use  her  intense 
popularity  for  their  own  advantage.  In  her  twenty-fifth 
year,  after  a  series  of  vicissitudes  and  escapes,  Elizabeth 
reigned.  On  hearing  the  news  of  her  sister's  death,  she 
appeared  stunned.  Drawing  a  deep  sigh,  she  knelt  down 
and  said : 

"  This  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  is  marvelous  in  our 
eyes." 

11 


XIII. 

THE  WIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

I  ~\ON'T  many  a  man  of  genius,"  Mrs.  Carlyle  used 
.1  J  to  say,  in  moments  of  depression,  to  her  intimate 
friends.  Who  would  like  to  be  judged  by  the  words  that 
escape  when  the  burthens  of  life  press  too  heavily,  or 
when  morbid  conditions  distort  the  view  ?  Carlyle 
inherited  from  a  line  of  laborious  ancestors  the  frame 
and  constitution  of  a  bricklayer,  with  the  peasant  instinct 
of  mastership  over  the  female.  A  little  Latin,  Greek, 
and  German  do  not  radically  change  a  man's  nature. 
The  old  saying,  that  it  takes  three  generations  to  make  a 
gentleman,  is  not  destitute  of  truth,  and  the  process  did 
not  begin  in  Thomas  Carlyle  till  he  was  already  too  old 
to  take  to  it  kindly.  The  true  moral  to  be  deduced  from 
the  mass  of  Carlylian  material  with  which  we  have  been 
recently  favored,  is:  Destroy  your  letters,  or  else  have 
them  edited  by  a  person  who  can  discriminate  between 
vvrords  that  express  an  exceptional  and  transitory  feeling, 
and  those  which  reveal  the  state  of  mind  which  is  habitual 
and  characteristic. 

Jeannie  Welsh,  at  all  periods  of  her  life,  was  a  cheery, 
fascinating  creature.  The  very  earliest  incidents  related 
of  her  exhibit  to  us  a  little  person  of  will,  opinion,  and 
talent.  She  was  quick  at  her  lessons,  a  capital  mimic, 
and  possessed  by  a  wide  and  intelligent  curiosity  which 
it  was  not  always  easy  to  satisfy.  The  usual  girl's  educa- 
tion was  not  enough  for  her  :  modern  languages,  music, 
and  drawing  were  well  in  their  way ;  but  she  aspired  to 

(172) 


THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  173 

the  dignity  of  Latin,  undeterred  by  her  father's  good- 
natured  indifference  and  her  mother's  opposition.  It  was 
not  her  custom  cither  to  tease  or  pout ;  she  simply  took 
the  matter  into  her  own  hands,  sought  out  a  school-boy 
whom  she  induced  to  teach  her  the  mysteries  of  nouns  of 
the  first  declension,  and  pursued  her  studies  by  herself. 
One  night  when  she  was  supposed  to  be  in  bed,  a  small 
voice  was  heard  issuing  from  beneath  a  table,  murmuring 
diligently  to  itself,  "penna,  a  pen ;  pennae,  of  a  pen." 
Amid  the  laughter  of  the  family  she  crawled  from  her 
hiding  place  and  running  to  her  father,  said  : 

"  I  want  to  learn  Latin ;  please  let  me  be  a  boy." 

The  school  of  Haddington,  her  native  place  (a  large 
market  town  twenty  miles  cast  of  Edinburgh),  was  but 
a  short  distance  from  her  father's  house,  and  thither  she 
was  soon  afterward  permitted  to  go,  attired,  as  Carlyie 
tells  us,  in  a  light  blue  pelisse,  black  belt,  dainty  little 
cap,  caught  up  with  a  feather,  and  her  satchel  carried  in 
her  hand. 

"  Fill  that  little  figure  with  elastic  intellect,  love,  and 
generous  vivacity  of  all  kinds,"  he  adds,  "  and  where  in 
nature  will  you  find  a  prettier  1 " 

The  little  lady's  vivacity  and  generosity  were  both  soon 
displayed  to  her  school-fellows.  The  boys  and  girls 
usually  said  their  lessons  in  separate  rooms,  but  arith- 
metic and  algebra  they  recited  together.  Most  of  the  boys 
were  devoted  to  her,  but  now  and  then  difficulties  arose, 
due,  perhaps,  to  her  so  easily  surpassing  them  all.  Once, 
when  the  master  had  left  the  room,  one  of  them  said 
something  disagreeable  to  her  ;  instantly  her  temper  was 
aroused,  and  doubling  up  her  little  fist  she  struck  him  on 
the  nose  and  made  it  bleed.  At  that  moment  the  master 
returned  and  demanded  to  know  who  had  been  fighting. 
There  was  silence.  Fighting  was  punished  with  flogging, 
and   no   one   would   tell   tales   of  a   girl.     The  teacher 


174  THE   WIFE   OP   THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

declared  that  he  would  flog  the  whole  school  if  he  was 
not  told  the  culprit's  name.  It  was  well  known  that  he 
would  keep  his  word ;  but  still  no  one  spoke  until 
Jeannie,  the  smallest,  most  fairy-like  of  little  girls, 
looked  up  and  announced  : 

"  Please,  it  was  I." 

Severity  was  impossible.  The  teacher  tried  to  keep 
his  countenance,  failed,  burst  out  laughing,  called  her  "  a 
little  devil,"  and  bade  her  go  her  ways  to  the  girls'  room. 

Soon  afterward  the  school  changed  masters ;  Edward 
Irving,  a  young  man  freshly  laden  with  college  honors, 
came  to  Haddington  to  teach.  Besides  having  her  in  his 
classes  at  the  school,  he  was  entrusted  with  the  care  of 
her  more  private  education.  He  directed  her  reading, 
assisted  her  in  her  studies,  taught  her  astronomy  on  star- 
light nights,  and  introduced  her  to  Vergil. 

Yergil  was  to  her,  as  he  has  been  to  so  many  others, 
an  inspiring  revelation.  She  read,  studied,  declaimed  the 
poet  with  passionate  delight.  She  tried  to  conform  her 
own  life  to  the  Roman  model.  When  she  was  tempted 
to  commit  an  unworthy  act,  she  said  to  herself  with 
sternness,  "A  Roman  would  not  have  done  it."  When 
she  gallantly  caught  by  the  neck  and  flung  aside  a  hissing 
gander  of  which  she  had  long  stood  in  dread,  she  felt  that 
she  "  deserved  well  of  the  Republic,"  and  merited  a  civil 
crown.  Furthermore,  having  become  convinced  that  a 
doll  was  now  beneath  her  dignity,  she  burned  her  ancient 
favorite,  with  all  its  dresses  and  its  cherished  four-post 
bed,  upon  a  funeral  pyre,  constructed  of  "  a  fagot  or  two 
of  cedar  allumettes,  a  few  sticks  of  cinnamon,  and  a  nut- 
meg." Then,  delivering  with  much  emphasis  and  solem- 
nity the  dying  words  of  Dido  in  their  original  tongue,  the 
dull  (with  Jeannie's  assistance),  kindled  the  pyre,  stabbed 
herself  with  a  penknife,  and  a  moment  later,  being  stuffed 
with  sawdust  and  highly  combustible,  was  in  a  fine  blaze, 


THE   WIPE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  liO 

while  her  poor  little  mistress,  repenting  too  late,  stood 
helplessly  by,  shrieking  till  the  household  hastened  to  the 
spot. 

While  she  was  yet  a  child  she  began  to  write,  and  at 
fourteen  she  had  composed  a  tragedy,  rather  inflated  in 
style,  but  of  great  promise.  She  continued  for  many 
years  to  write  poetry,  and  her  two  dearest  friends,  Irving 
and  Carlyle,  both  expected  her  to  shine  in  literature. 
That  she  possessed  the  talent  for  such  a  career  her  clear, 
graphic  style,  its  witty  allusions,  and  the  appreciative 
humor  of  her  letters  sufficiently  attest. 

She  was  still  a  young  girl  when  her  father,  Dr.  Welsh, 
a  highly  accomplished  physician,  was  prostrated  by  a 
fever  caught  while  attending  an  old  woman  in  the  town 
of  Haddington.  His  disease  being  contagious,  he  gave 
orders  to  exclude  his  daughter  from  the  room.  She 
forced  her  way  to  his  side.  He  sent  her  out,  and  she 
passed  the  night  lying  before  his  door.  His  death,  her 
first  great  sorrow,  was  well  nigh  insupportable  to  her,  and 
perhaps  permanently  impaired  her  health. 

"  A  father  so  loved  and  mourned,"  says  Carlyle,  "  I 
have  never  seen.  To  the  end  of  her  life  his  title  even  to 
me  was  'iZei'  and  '•Him?  Not  above  twice  or  thrice,  did 
she  ever  mention — and  then  in  a  quiet,  slow  tone — my 
father." 

His  death  left  her  an  heiress  ;  all  his  property  except  a 
small  annuity  to  his  widow  having  been  bequeathed  to 
her.  She  was  young,  agreeable,  brilliant,  rich  (for  the 
time  and  place),  and  beautiful.  She  was  fair,  with  black 
hair  and  black  eyes  "  shining  with  soft  mockery,"  as 
Froude  describes  them,  and  an  irregular  nose,  in  harmony 
with  the  satirical  expression  of  her  face.  Her  forehead 
was  white  and  broad,  her  figure  "  slight,  airy,  and  per- 
fectly graceful." 

We  cannot  wonder  that  this  young  lady  was  blessed 


176  THE   WIFE   OP  THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

with  many  suitors.  She  made  herself  agreeable  to  them, 
talked,  laughed,  and  danced  with  them,  and  refused  them 
very  politely  when  they  asked  her  hand.  Many  people 
considered  her  a  flirt,  and  the  gay  manner  in  which  she 
alludes  to  the  charge  shows  that  she  did  not  resent  it. 
But  if  she  was  merry,  she  was  neither  frivolous  nor 
unfeeling.  She  had  bestowed  all  the  love  she  had  to  give 
upon  a  man  who  fully  returned  her  affection,  yet  could 
not  marry  her.  This  was  her  old  teacher,  Edward 
Irving.  He  had  become  engaged  to  another  lady  before 
again  meeting  the  beautiful  Miss  Welsh  whom  he  had  so 
long  known  only  as  little  Jeannie.  When  at  length  he 
saw  her  again,  he  fell  in  love  with  her.  He  would  not 
break  his  engagement,  nor  would  she  permit  him  to  do 
so.  At  length,  he  asked  the  young  lady  to  release  him: 
she  would  not,  and  he  married  her. 

This  affair,  so  quickly  told,  lasted  long,  and  while  the 
issue  was  yet  uncertain,  Irving  introduced  Miss  Welsh  to 
his  friend,  Thomas  Carlyle,  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
guide  and  assist  her  in  her  studies.  The  friendship 
between  them  soon  became  warmly  affectionate.  Carlyle 
discussed  his  projects,  prospects,  and  opinions  with  her, 
corrected  her  verses,  and  planned  works  which  they  were 
to  write  in  concert.  Not  aware  of  Irving's  love  for  her, 
he  even  adopted  a  complimentary,  gallant  tone  in  his 
letters  ;  but  this  she  did  not  permit  to  continue.  Gradu- 
ally his  affection  and  admiration  increased,  until  he  felt 
that  she  was  the  perfect  woman.  He  was  not  hopeful  of 
success  in  his  suit,  nor  had  he  reason  to  be,  for  until 
Irving's  marriage  she  persistently  discouraged  him.  He 
was  very  much  in  love  for  so  austere  a  man,  and  wrote 
verses  which  sound  strangely  to  the  ear  familiar  with  his 
ordinary  —  or  extraordinary  —  style.  They  are  ardent, 
at  least : 

"  Bright  maid,  thy  destiny  as  I  view, 
Unuttered  thoughts  come  o'er  me; 


THE   WIFE    OP   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  Vil 

Enrolled  among  earth's  chosen  few, 
Lovely  as  morning,  pure  as  dew, 
Thy  image  stands  before  me. 

"  Oh,  that  on  Fame's  far  shining  peak, 
With  great  and  mighty  numbered, 
Unfading  laurels  I  could  seek; 
This  longing  spirit  then  might  speak 
The  thoughts  within  that  slumbered. 

"  Oh,  in  the  battle's  wildest  swell, 
By  hero's  deeds  to  win  thee, 
To  meet  the  charge,  the  stormy  yell, 
The  artillery's  flash,  its  thundering  knell, 
And  thine  the  light  within  me. 

"What  man  in  Fate's  dark  day  of  power, 
While  thoughts  of  thee  upbore  him, 

Would  shrink  at  danger's  blackest  lour, 

Or  faint  in  Life's  last  ebbing  hour, 
If  tears  of  thine  fell  o'er  him  ? " 

Irving  once  married,  Miss  Welsh  viewed  her  devoted 
but  impracticable  suitor  in  a  different  light.  She  recog- 
nized his  genius,  she  believed  in  his  affection,  she  was 
proud  of  his  preference :  why  not  marry  him  ?  She  was 
not,  as  she  frankly  told  him,  in  love  with  him ;  yet  she 
loved  him,  and  at  last  accepted  him.  Their  engagement 
was  stormy.  If  he  made  impossible  plans  for  the  future, 
she,  with  a  stroke  of  satire,  a  positive  No,  or  an  elaborate 
explanation,  upset  them.  Then  he  thought  she  was  dis- 
mayed at  the  prospect  of  such  a  retired  life  as  his  profes- 
sion necessitated,  and  offered  to  release  her.  Then  she 
wrote  refusing  to  be  released,  soothing  and  reassuring 
him,  and  proposing  some  other  arrangement.  Each 
cheered  and  encouraged  the  other  to  such  sacrifices  as  the 
circumstances  required,  and  indeed,  as  Mr.  Froude 
remarks :  "  They  comforted  one  another  as  if  they  were 
going  to  execution." 


1 I  O  THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

Married  they  were,  however,  after  much  difficulty  and 
delay,  owing  to  the  impossibility  of  Carlyle's  arranging 
the  necessary  details  as  anybody  else  would  have  done. 
Miss  Welsh  had  to  instruct  him  in  regard  to  each  detail 
of  the  ceremony.  Her  last  letter  before  the  wedding, 
relating  to  something  about  the  banns  which  he  did  not 
understand,  is  headed : 

"  The  last  Speech  and  marrying  Words  of  that  unfortu- 
nate young  woman,  Jane  Baillie  Welsh." 

An  unfortunate  young  woman,  her  friends  indeed  con- 
sidered her  to  be,  knowing  as  they  did  her  husband's 
irascible  temper  and  fantastic  whims.  Nor,  bravely  as 
she  faced  the  future,  did  she  herself  expect  other  happi- 
ness than  was  to  be  won  by  a  life  of  self-sacrifice,  nor  ask 
other  reward  than  the  appreciation  and  confidence  of  the 
man  of  genius  whom  she  had  resolved  to  serve.  Having 
these,  she  had  been  well  content  to  bear  his  irritability 
and  moroseness,  to  stand  between  him  and  poverty's  daily 
worries,  to  accept  menial  duties  to  which  she  was  unaccus- 
tomed, and  to  lose  the  friends  whose  society  he  would  not 
tolerate. 

The  first  eighteen  months  of  their  married  life,  Carlyle 
was  accustomed  to  look  back  upon  as  the  happiest  period 
of  his  existence. 

"  For  my  wife,"  he  wrote  to  his  mother  shortly  after 
taking  possession  of  his  new  home,  Comely  Bank,  "  I  may 
say  in  my  heart  that  she  is  far  better  than  any  wife,  and 
loves  me  with  a  devotedness  which  it  is  a  mystery  to  me 
how  I  have  ever  deserved.  She  is  gay  and  happy  as  a 
lark,  and  looks  with  such  soft  cheerfulness  into  my 
gloomy  countenance,  that  new  hope  passed  into  me  every 
time  I  met  her  eye." 

She,  too,  was  most  happy.  "My  husband  is  so  kind," 
she  writes  in  a  postscript  to  one  of  his  letters  home,  "  so 
in  all  respects  after  my  own  heart.     I  was  sick  one  day, 


THE   WIFE   OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE.  179 

and  he  nursed  me  as  well  as  my  own  mother  could  have 
done,  and  he  never  says  a  hard  word  to  me  unless  I 
richly  deserve  it.  We  see  great  numbers  of  people,  but 
are  always  most  content  alone.  My  husband  reads  then, 
and  I  read  or  work,  or  just  sit  and  look  at  him,  which  I 
really  find  as  profitable  an  employment  as  any  other." 

Already,  however,  she  was  beginning  to  encounter  the 
social  and  household  difficulties  which  her  husband's  tem- 
perament rendered  inevitable.  He  was  dyspeptic,  and 
required  the  simplest  food,  cooked  with  unvarying  perfec- 
tion, storming  at  fate,  or  shrouding  himself  in  deepest 
gloom  if  his  oatmeal  was  scorched  or  his  eggs  not  fresh. 
As  no  servant  could  satisfy  him,  Mrs.  Carlyle  went  into 
the  kitchen,  and  studied  cookery.  The  slightest  noises 
distracted  him  when  he  was  at  work  ;  Mrs.  Carlyle  was 
ever  on  the  alert  to  prevent  doors  from  banging,  dishes 
from  clattering,  and  shoes  from  creaking.  Visitors  had 
to  be  received  ;  his  tender  epithet  for  them  was  "  nauseous 
intruders."  Mrs.  Carlyle  managed  with  such  adroitness 
that,  without  offence  to  any,  they  were  so  winnowed  and 
sifted  that  only  those  whose  society  he  could  enjoy  or 
endure,  reached  his  presence.  She  was  a  charming 
hostess,  and  even  succeeded  in  giving  small  tea-parties 
which  her  gifted  spouse  found  not  unpleasant. 

Meanwhile,  Carlyle's  literary  and  financial  ventures 
not  proving  successful,  he  was  possessed  by  a  grow- 
ing restlessness  and  gloom,  and  before  the  first  year 
was  ended,  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  Edinburgh  and 
retire  to  Craigenputtock,  a  bleak,  barren  little  moorland 
estate  belonging  to  his  wife,  sixteen  miles  from  the 
nearest  town.  Mrs.  Carlyle,  whose  health  was  impaired, 
dreaded  the  change,  and  might  even  have  refused  her 
consent,  but  that  her  mother  then  lived  at  Nithsdale, 
fifteen  miles  from  Craigenputtock.  She  did  remonstrate, 
but  Carlyle's  mind  was  made  up,  and  to  Craigenputtock 


180  THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

they  went.  They  lived  there  seven  years  —  years  of 
alternating  depression  and  good  cheer  to  Carlyle,  but 
marked  by  improvement  in  his  literary  power  and  growing 
reputation.     To  his  wife  they  were  years  of  desolation. 

As  only  incapable  Scottish  servants  could  be  obtained, 
Mrs.  Carlyle  was  obliged  to  make  good  their  deficiencies. 
She  cooked,  cleaned  the  rooms,  scoured  the  floors,  polished 
grates,  milked  cows,  gathered  eggs,  looked  after  the  gar- 
den, took  charge  of  the  dairy,  and,  in  short,  did  the  work 
herself,  with  occasional  assistance  from  her  blundering 
maid.  If  anything  was  unexpectedly  required  from  the 
village,  it  was  she  who  must  mount  and  gallop  away  in 
quest  of  it. 

Her  hardest  struggles  were  with  the  cookery.  She  had 
cooked,  indeed,  at  Comely  Bank,  but  only  now  and  then 
the  dainties, not  as  she  cooked  at  Craigenputtock.  After 
thirty  years,  she  wrote  to  a  friend  the  comic-pathetic 
story  of  the  baking  of  her  first  loaf  of  bread.  The  bread 
from  Dumfries  not  agreeing  with  her  husband,  she  says  : 

"  It  was  plainly  my  duty  as  a  Christian  wife  to  bake  at 
home.  So  I  sent  for  Cobbett's  '  Cottage  Economy,'  and 
fell  to  work  at  a  loaf  of  bread.  But  knowing  nothing 
of  the  process  of  fermentation  or  the  heat  of  ovens,  it 
came  to  pass  that  my  loaf  got  put  into  the  oven  at  the 
time  that  myself  ought  to  have  been  put  into  bed  ;  and  I 
remained  the  only  person  not  asleep  in  a  house  in  the 
middle  of  a  desert.  One  o'clock  struck,  and  then  two, 
and  then  three;  and  still  I  was  sitting  there  in  an 
immense  solitude,  my  whole  body  aching  with  weariness, 
my  heart  aching  with  a  sense  of  forlornness  and  degra- 
dation. That  I,  who  had  been  so  petted  at  home,  whose 
comfort  had  been  studied  by  everybody  in  the  house,  who 
had  never  beeir  required  to  do  anything  but  cultivate  my 
mind,  should  have  to  pass  all  those  hours  of  the  night  in 
watching  a  loaf  of  bread  —  which  mightn't  turn  out  bread 


THE   WIFE   OP  THOMAS   CARLYLE.  181 

after  all !  Such  thoughts  maddened  me,  till  I  laid  down 
my  head  on  the  table  and  sobbed  aloud.  It  was  then 
that  somehow  the  idea  of  Benvenuto  Cellini  sitting  up 
all  night  watching  his  Perseus  in  the  furnace  came  into 
my  head,  and  suddenly  I  asked  myself,  'After  all,  in  the 
sight  of  the  Upper  Powers,  what  is  the  mighty  difference 
between  a  statue  of  Perseus  and  a  loaf  of  bread,  so  that 
each  be  the  thing  one's  hand  has  found  to  do  ?  The  man's 
determined  will,  his  energy,  his  patience,  his  resource, 
were  the  really  admirable  tilings,  of  which  his  statue  of 
Perseus  was  the  mere  chance  expression.  If  he  had 
been  a  woman  living  at  Craigenputtock,  with  a  dyspeptic 
husband,  sixteen  miles  from  a  baker,  and  he  a  bad  one, 
all  these  same  qualities  would  have  come  out  more  fully  in 
a  good  loaf  of  bread.'" 

Of  these  labors  she  never  complained  till  her  health 
gave  way,  though  the  solitude  of  the  place  was  terrible  to 
her,  and  Carlyle,  occupied  with  his  work  and  blind  to  her 
misery,  withdrew  himself  from  her  society,  and  rode, 
smoked,  and  mused  by  himself.  His  nervous  condition 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  sleep  unless  he  slept 
alone ;  at  least,  it  made  him  think  he  could  not.  Some- 
times for  days  she  scarcely  saw  him,  except  at  meals, 
and  in  the  early  morning  when  she  stole  into  his  room 
for  the  few  moments  while  he  was  shaving.  It  is  little 
wonder  that  she  called  the  place  "the  Desert,"  or 
shuddered  to  remember  that  of  the  three  previous  resi- 
dents one  had  taken  to  drink,  and  two  had  gone  mad.  A 
touching  relic  of  this  time  is  a  little  poem  of  hers, 
enclosed  in  a  letter  to  her  friend,  Lord  Jeffrey.  It  is 
called  "To  a  Swallow  Building  Under  Our  Eaves": 

"Thou  too  hast  traveled,  little  fluttering  thing  — 
Hast  seen  the  world,  and  now  thy  weary  wing 

Thou  too  must  rest. 
But  much  my  little  bird,  couldst  thou  but  tell, 
I'd  give  to  know  why  here  thou  lik'st  so  well 

To  build  thy  nest. 


182  THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

"For  thou  hast  passed  fair  places  in  thy  flight; 
A  world  lay  all  beneath  thee  where  to  light ; 

And,  strange  thy  taste, 
Of  all  the  varied  scenes  that  met  thine  eye  — 
Of  all  the  spots  for  building  'neath  the  sky  — 

To  choose  this  waste. 

"Did  fortune  try  thee?  was  thy  little  purse 
Perchance  run  Ioav,  and  thou,  afraid  of  worse, 

Felt  here  secure? 
Ah  no !  thou  need'st  not  gold,  thou  happy  one ! 
Thou  know'st  it  not.     Of  all  God's  creatures,  man 

Alone  is  poor! 

"  What  was  it,  then?  some  mystic  turn  of  thought, 
Caught  under  German  eaves,  and  hither  brought, 

Marring  thine  eye 
For  the  world's  loveliness,  till  thou  art  grown 
A  sober  thing  that  dost  but  mope  and  moan, 

Not  knowing  why? 

"Nay,  if  thy  mind  be  sound,  I  need  not  ask, 
Since  here  I  see  thee  working  at  thy  task 

With  wing  and  beak. 
A  well-laid  scheme  doth  that  small  head  contain, 
At  which  thou  work'st,  brave  bird,  with  might  and  main. 

Nor  more  need'st  seek. 

"  In  truth,  I  rather  take  it  thou  hast  got 
By  instinct  wise  much  sense  about  thy  lot, 

And  hast  small  care 
Whether  an  Eden  or  a  desert  be 
Thy  home,  so  thou  remain'st  alive  and  free 

To  skim  the  air. 

"God  speed  thee,  pretty  bird;  may  thy  small  nest 
With  little  ones  all  in  good  time  be  blest. 

I  love  thee  much ; 
For  well  thou  managest  that  life  of  thine, 
While  I!  oh,  ask  not  what  I  do  with  mine  I 

Would  I  were  such !  " 


THE    WIFE    OF   THOMAS    CARLYLE.  183 

At  length,  in  1S34,  they  moved  to  London,  to  the  now 
famous  No.  5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  their  home  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives.  They  were  both  pleased  with  the 
change,  and  Carlyle  even  enjoyed  the  moving  in  and 
settling  down,  although  noise  and  bustle  usually  drove 
him  into  his  worst  humor.  A  year  after  the  removal 
Mrs.  Carlyle  writes  merrily  to  her  mother: 

"  I  have  just  had  a  call  from  an  old  rejected  lover,  who 
has  been  in  India  these  ten  years :  though  he  has  come 
home  with  more  thousands  of  pounds  than  we  are  ever 
likely  to  have  hundreds,  or  even  scores,  the  sight  of  him 
did  not  make  me  doubt  the  wisdom  of  my  preference. 
Indeed,  I  continue  quite  content  with  my  bargain ;  I 
could  wish  him  a  little  less  yellow,  and  a  little  more 
peaceable  ;  but  this  is  all." 

She  did  not  add,  "  and  a  little  more  practical,"  but  she 
might  well  have  done  so.  Throughout  his  life  Carlyle's 
dismay  and  helplessness,  when  confronted  with  the  ordi- 
nary necessities  of  existence,  was  something  which  would 
have  been  merely  ludicrous  had  it  not  cast  upon  his  brave, 
too  generous  wife,  a  burden  she  was  ill  able  to  bear.  He 
shrank  from  ordering  his  own  coats  and  trowsers ;  she 
went  to  the  tailor's  for  him,  much  to  the  astonishment  of 
that  functionary.  If  the  house  needed  repairing,  he  took 
to  flight,  and  enjoyed  a  journey  to  Scotland,  while  she 
remained  among  the  dismantled  rooms,  superintending 
the  labors  of  plumbers,  plasterers,  and  paper-hangers. 
When  a  howling  dog,  a  talkative  parrot,  a  too  cheerful 
cock,  distracted  him  at  his  writing  and  invoked  a  tempest, 
it  was  she  ayIio  by  appealing  letters,  personal  persuasion, 
or  threats  of  the  law,  induced  the  neighbors  to  abolish 
the  nuisance,  and  so  allayed  the  storm.  She,  too,  it  was 
who  still  faced  and  routed  inquisitive  visitors,  who  man- 
aged the  household  expenditure,  who  covered  and  remodeled 
ancient  sofas,  repainted  old  furniture,  kept  the  books  in 


184  THE    WIFE    OF   THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

order,  attended  to  the  taxes,  and  arranged  the  terms  on 
which  they  leased  their  home.  With  regard  to  the  lease, 
she  writes  to  her  husband  at  Llandough,  during  a  period 
when  he  had  escaped  into  the  country,  leaving  her  to 
reign  alone  in  a  house  where  "  the  stairs  were  all  flowing 
with  whitewash,"  and  a  young  man  was  scraping  the  walls 
with  pumice-stone  to  the  tune  of  "  Oh,  rest  thee  my 
darling,  Thy  sire  is  a  Knight." 

"  It  will  be  a  clean,  pretty  house  for  you  to  come  home 
to,  and  should  you  find  that  I  have  exceeded  by  a  few 
pounds  your  modest  allowance  for  painting  and  papering, 
you  will  find  that  I  have  not  been  thoughtless  neverthe- 
less, when  I  show  you  a  document  from  Mr.  Morgan, 
promising  to  '  indemnify  us  for  the  same  in  the  undis- 
turbed possession  of  our  house  for  five  years  ! '  A  piece 
of  paper  equivalent  to  a  lease  of  the  house  for  five  years, 
'  with  the  reciprocity  all  on  one  side,'  binding  him  and 
leaving  us  free.  .  .  .  This  was  one  of  those  remarkable 
instances  of  fascination  which  I  exercise  over  gentlemen 
of  a  '  certain  age  ; '  before  I  had  spoken  six  words  to  him 
it  was  plain  to  the  meanest  capacity  that  he  had  fallen 
over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  me ;  and  if  he  put  off 
time  in  writing  me  the  promise  I  required,  it  was  plainly 
only  because  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  my  going  away 
again!  No  wonder!  probably  no  such  beatific  vision  as 
that  of  a  real  live  woman,  in  a  silk  bonnet  and  muslin 
gown,  ever  irradiated  that  dingy,  dusty  law  chamber  of 
his,  and  sat  there  on  a  threc-fect-high  stool,  since  he  had 
held  a  pen  behind  his  ear ;  and  certainly  never  before  had 
either  man  or  woman,  in  that  place,  addressed  him  as  a 
human  being,  not  as  a  lawyer,  or  he  would  not  have  looked 
at  me  so  struck  dumb  with  admiration  when  I  did  so. 
For  respectability's  sake,  I  said,  in  taking  leave,  that '  my 
husband  was  out  of  town,  or  he  would  have  come  himself.' 
'Better  as  it  is,"  said  the  old  gentleman ;  '  do  you  think  I 


THE  WIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  18D 

would  have  written  to  jour  husband's  dictation  as  I  have 
done  to  yours  ? '  He  asked  me  if  your  name  were  John 
or  William — plainly  he  had  lodged  an  angel  unawares." 

Carlyle's  sins,  we  must  own,  were  more  those  of 
omission  than  commission,  but  he  was  liable  to  be  seized 
at  any  time  by  some  whimsical  desire  that  had  to  be 
gratified  at  once,  whatever  the  inconvenience  to  the  house- 
hold. Thus  his  wife  writes  to  her  friend,  Dr.  Russell, 
apologizing  for  her  delay  in  sending  him  a  photograph 
and  letter : 

"  On  the  New  Year's  morning  itself,  Mr.  C.  '  got  up  off 
his  Avrong  side,'  a  by  no  means  uncommon  way  of  getting 
up  for  him  in  these  overworked  times  !  And  he  suddenly 
discovered  that  his  salvation,  here  and  hereafter,  depended 
on  having,  '  immediately,  without  a  moment's  delay,'  a 
beggarly  pair  of  old  cloth  boots,  that  the  street-sweeper 
would  hardly  have  thanked  him  for,  '  lined  with  flannel, 
and  new  bound,  and  repaired  generally ! '  and  '  one  of  my 
women' — that  is,  my  one  woman  and  a  half — was  to  be 
set  upon  the  job  !  Alas  !  a  regular  shoemaker  would  have 
taken  a  whole  day  to  it,  and  wouldn't  have  undertaken 
such  a  piece  of  work  besides !  and  Mr.  C.  scouted  the  idea 
of  employing  a  shoemaker,  as  subversive  of  his  authority 
as  master  of  the  house.  So,  neither  my  one  woman,  nor 
my  half  one,  having  any  more  capability  of  repairing 
'  generally '  these  boots  than  of  repairing  the  Great  East- 
ern, there  was  no  help  for  me  but  to  sit  down  on  the  New 
Year's  morning,  with  a  great  ugly  beast  of  a  man's  boot 
in  my  lap,  and  scheme,  and  stitch,  and  worry  over  it  till 
night ;  and  next  morning  begin  on  the  other  !  There,  you 
see,  were  my  two  days  eaten  up  very  completely,  and 
unexpectedly;  and  so  it  goes  on, 'always  a  something' 
(as  my  dear  mother  used  to  say)." 

ITer  difficulties  with  servants  form  a  tragi-comedy  by 
themselves,  very  funny  in  some  of  its  details,  but  a  very 


186  THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

real  and  exhausting  misery  to  the  poor  lady  whose  dyspep- 
tic of  genius  had  to  be  guarded  from  every  breath  of 
domestic  disturbance.  She  had  servants  who  stole, 
servants  who  drank,  servants  who  brought  upon  the  house 
the  horror  of  bugs,  servants  who  were  incompetent,  ser- 
vants who  were  insolent.  One,  while  her  mistress  was  ill 
upstairs,  entertained  people  of  evil  character  in  the 
kitchen  and  terrified  her  fellow-servant  into  keeping 
silence  ;  another  was  found  dead-drunk  upon  the  kitchen 
floor  with  a  whisky  bottle  by  her  side,  surrounded  (having 
overturned  the  table  in  her  fall)  by  a  quantity  of  broken 
crockery  that  filled  a  clothes-basket  when  gathered  up. 
All  this  she  had  to  bear  and  set  right  without  help,  and 
with  much  hindrance  from  her  husband's  irritable  temper. 

"  I  should  not  be  at  all  afraid,"  she  once  wrote  to  her 
beloved  friend,  Mrs.  Russell,  "  that  after  a  few  weeks  my 
new  maid  would  do  well  enough  if  it  weren't  for  Mr.  C.'s 
frightful  impatience  with  any  new  servant  untrained  to 
his  ways,  which  would  drive  a  woman  out  of  the  house 
with  her  hair  on  end  if  allowed  to  act  directly  upon  her ! 
80  that  I  have  to  stand  between  them,  and  imitate  in  a 
small,  humble  way  the  Roman  soldier  who  gathered  his 
arms  full  of  the  enemy's  spears,  and  received  them  all 
into  his  own  breast.  It  is  this  which  makes  a  change  of 
servants,  even  when  for  the  better,  a  terror  to  me  in ' 
prospect,  and  an  agony  in  realization — for  a  time." 

Carlyle,  collecting  and  reading  over  his  wife's  letters 
after  her  death,  added  to  this  one — "  Oil  Heavens,  the 
comparison !     It  was  too  true." 

Even  when  all  was  going  well  and  the  household  in 
perfect  running  order,  he  could  not  spare  her,  and,  much 
as  her  health  demanded  change  of  scene,  rest,  and  the 
oareful  attendance  of  friends,  she  dared  make  no  visits. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  she  wrote  to  Mrs.  Russell,  "your  kind- 
ness goes  to  my  heart,  and  makes  me  like  to  cry,  because 


THE  WIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.         187 

I  cannot  do  as  you  bid  me.  My  servants  are  pretty  well 
got  into  the  routine  of  the  house  now,  and  if  Mr.  C.  were 
like  other  men,  he  might  be  left  to  their  care  for  two  or 
three  weeks,  without  fear  of  consequences.  But  he  is 
much  more  like  a  spoiled  baby  than  like  other  men.  I 
tried  him  alone  for  a  few  days,  when  I  was  afraid  of  fall- 
ing seriously  ill,  unless  I  had  change  of  air.  Three  weeks  . 
ago  I  went  with  Geraldine  Jcwsbury  to  Ramsgate,  one  of 
the  most  accessible  sea-side  places,  where  I  was  within 
call,  as  it  were,  if  anything  went  wrong  at  home.  But 
the  letter  that  came  from  him  every  morning  was  like  the 
letter  of  a  Babe  in  the  Wood,  who  would  be  found  buried 
with  dead  leaves  by  the  robins  if  I  didn't  look  to  it." 

Mrs.  Carlyle's  lot  was  indeed  in  many  respects  a 
miserable  one.  Another  woman  in  her  state  of  health 
would  almost  from  the  first  have  claimed  the  rights  of  an 
invalid.  She  was  burdened  far  beyond  her  strength ; 
Carlyle  did  not  see  it,  did  not  appreciate  her  heroic  toil, 
and  gave  her  little  of  the  comfort  of  his  society.  At  one 
period  he  sought  and  frequently  enjoyed  the  conversation 
of  a  brilliant  and  titled  lady,  who  was  his  admiring  friend, 
but  was  scarcely  civil  to  his  wife.  At  this  time  the  spirit, 
the  confidence,  the  humor,  the  gayety,  that  had  so  long 
sustained  her  no  longer  sufficed,  and  her  sorrow  found 
vent  in  a  bitter  journal ;  kept,  as  she  records  on  the  first 
page,  because  she  had  taken  a  notion  to,  and  "  just  as  the 
Scotch  professor  drank  whisky,  because  I  like  it,  and 
because  it's  cheap."  During  this  period,  which  fortu- 
nately did  not  last  long,  her  letters  to  Carlyle  are  short 
and  cold  ;  but  gradually  the  matter  adjusted  itself,  her 
jealousy  died  a  natural  death,  and  she  wrote  to  him  once 
more  in  the  old,  lover-like  tone,  and  the  old,  merry  humor. 

There  was  a  bright  side  to  the  picture.  Her  husband 
was  famous.  She  was  proud  of  him,  proud  of  being  con- 
sulted concerning  his  works ;  and  he  never  failed  to  ask 

12 


188  THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

her  criticism,  as  he  really  valued  her  judgment.  She  had, 
too,  a  large  circle  of  friends,  whom  she  attached  to  her- 
self by  a  bond  of  peculiar  tenderness.  She  enjoyed  the 
friendship  of  many  distinguished  men — among  them  Dar- 
win, Dickens,  and  Tennyson — she  entertained  them  at 
her  house,  and  she  was  justly  famed  as  a  hostess.  It 
used  to  be  said  that  many  who  came  to  sit  at  her  hus- 
band's feet,  remained  at  hers.  When  he  was  present, 
however,  she  persistently  kept  herself  in  the  background, 
devoting  all  her  energies  to  drawing  him  out  to  the  best 
advantage,  by  means  of  a  judicious  word  here  and  there, 
by  warding  off  interruption,  and  by  an  occasional  well- 
timed  cup  of  tea.  When  he  was  absent  she  revealed  her- 
self as  a  brilliant  talker,  quiet,  witty,  eloquent,  humorous, 
adding  piquancy  to  the  conversation  by  quaint  quotations 
of  Scotch  proverbs,  odd  by-words,  or  sudden  touches  of 
mimicry. 

In  1863,  her  health,  long  declining,  became  worse  than 
ever,  and  she  suffered  greatly  from  neuralgia  in  her  arm. 
One  day,  feeling  rather  better  than  usual,  she  went  out  to 
visit  a  cousin  in  the  city.  After  making  her  call,  she 
hailed  an  omnibus  to  ride  home ;  but,  as  the  street  was 
undergoing  repairs,  the  omnibus  could  not  approach  the 
*  curbstone,  and  just  as  she  left  the  sidewalk  to  cross  to  it, 
a  cab  dashed  toward  her  at  full  speed.  To  avoid  being 
run  over  she  was  obliged  to  throw  herself  suddenly  to 
one  side.  She  fell,  and  the  desperate  effort  she  made  to 
keep  from  striking  upon  her  helpless  arm  in  falling, 
wrenched  and  lacerated  the  sinews  of  her  thigh.  Nor 
did  she  succeed  in  saving  her  arm,  which  received  the 
full  force  of  the  blow.  She  lay  for  a  moment  unable  to 
rise  or  move ;  then  kind  hands  lifted  her  and  placed  her 
in  a  carriage,  when  she  was  driven  home.  Her  suffer- 
ing was  terrible ;  but  in  the  midst  of  it  she  could  still 
think  of  her  husband,  and  when  at  length  the  carriage 


THE   WIFE   OP   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  1S9 

stopped  she  caused  the  driver  to  call  her  next  neighbor 
first  of  all.  that  he  might  break  the  news  to  Carlyle. 

Slowly  she  recovered  from  the  worst  effects  of  this 
accident,  and  was  able  to  move  about,  and  resume  in  some 
measure  her  old  place.  But  darker  days  were  yet  to 
come.  The  neuralgia  increased  to  such  a  degree,  that 
she  was  scarcely  ever  without  pain ;  and  to  this  a  still 
more  distressing  malady,  the  result  of  her  full,  was  after- 
wards added.  When  she  was  able  to  be  moved  she  was 
taken  for  a  time  to  St.  Leonards-on-Sea ;  later,  to  the 
country-house  of  a  relative,  and  then  to  Holm  Hill,  where 
she  could  be  under  the  care  of  old  friends.  Her  letters 
to  Carlyle  were  but  a  record  of  anguish,  often  a  cry  of 
despair.  It  is  impossible  to  read  them  without  a  degree 
of  sympathy  that  is  painful  in  its  intensity. 

"Oh,"  she  wrote,  "this  relapse  is  a  severe  disappoint- 
ment to  me,  and  God  knows,  not  altogether  a  selfish 
disappointment !  I  had  looked  forward  to  going  back  to 
you  so  much  improved,  as  to  be,  if  not  of  any  use  and 
comfort  to  you,  at  least  no  trouble  to  you,  and  no  burden 
on  your  spirits  !  And  now  God  knows  how  it  will  be  ! 
Sometimes  I  feel  a  deadly  assurance  that  I  am  progress- 
ing towards  just  such  another  winter  as  the  last!  only 
what  little  courage  and  hope  supported  me  in  the  begin- 
ning, worn  out  now,  and  ground  into  dust,  under  long  fiery 
suffering !  " 

But  at  last  she  grew  a  little  better,  and  it  was  thought 
best  that  she  should  return  to  London.  Her  arrival  Avas 
of  course  a  joyful  event,  and  her  welcome  most  cordial. 

"  Very  excited  people  they  were,"  she  wrote,  "Dr.  C.  had 
stupidly  told  his  brother  he  might  look  for  us  about  ten, 
and,  as  we  did  not  arrive  until  half  after  eleven,  Mr.  C. 
had  settled  it  in  his  own  mind  that  I  had  been  taken  ill 
somewhere  on  the  road,  and  was  momentarily  expecting  a 
telegram  to  say  that  I  was  dead.     So  he  rushed  out  in  his 


190  THE   WIFE   OP  THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

dressing-gown,  and  kissed  me,  and  wept  over  me  as  I  was 
in  the  act  of  getting  down  out  the  cab  (much  to  the  edifica- 
tion of  the  neighbors  at  their  windows,  I  have  no  doubt)  ; 
and  then  the  maids  appeared  behind  him,  looking  timidly, 
with  flushed  faces  and  tears  in  their  eyes  ;  and  the  little  one 
(the  cook)  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  fell  to 
kissing  me  in  the  open  street ;  and  the  big  one  (the  house- 
maid) I  had  to  kiss,  that  she  might  not  be  made  jealous 
the  first  thing." 

Though  still  weak  and  often  suffering,  she  was  never 
again  as  ill  as  she  had  been.  She  resumed  the  manage- 
ment of  the  household,  wrote  gay  letters  again,  entertained 
company,  and  drove  out  frequently  in  a  neat  little  carriage 
given  her  by  Carlyle,  and  selected  with  deep  pride  and 
pleasure  by  herself.  Her  husband,  during  these  last  days 
(which  neither  of  them  knew  to  be  her  last),  was  as 
kind  to  her  as  his  unpliant  nature  permitted,  while  she 
turned  constantly  to  him  with  clinging  affection  pitiful  to 
see.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  went  to  Edinburgh  to 
address  the  University.  Her  anxiety  as  to  his  success, 
and  her  final  delight  in  his  triumph,  were  characteristic 
and  beautiful. 

"  Mrs.  Warren  and  Maggie  were  helping  to  dress  me 
for  Forster's  birthday,"  she  wrote,  "  when  the  telegraph 
boy  gave  his  double  knock.  '  There  it  is  ! '  I  said.  '  I 
am  afraid,  cousin,  it  is  only  the  postman,'  said  Maggie. 
Jessie  rushed  up  with  the  telegram.  I  tore  it  open  and 
read  '  From  John  Tyndall '  (Oh,  God  bless  John  Tyndall 
in  this  world  and  the  next !)  '  to  Mrs.  Carlyle.  A  per- 
fect triumph  ! '  I  read  it  to  myself,  and  then  read  it 
aloud  to  the  gaping  chorus.  And  chorus  all  began  to 
dance  and  clap  their  hands.  '  Eh,  Mrs.  Carlyle !  Eh, 
hear  to  that ! '  cried  Jessie.  '  I  told  you,  ma'am,'  cried 
Mrs.  Warren,  '  I  told  you  how  it  would  be.'  '  I'm  so  glad, 
cousin  !  you'll  be  all  right  now,  cousin,'  twittered  Maggie, 


THE  WIPE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  191 

executing  a  sort  of  leap-frog  round  me.  And  they  went 
on  clapping  their  hands,  till  there  arose  among  them  a 
sudden  cry  for  brandy  !  '  Get  her  some  brandy  ! '  '  Do, 
ma'am,  swallow  this  spoonful  of  brandy  ;  just  a  spoonful ! ' 
For,  you  see,  the  sudden  solution  of  the  nervous  tension 
with  which  I  have  been  holding  in  my  anxieties  for  days 
— nay,  weeks  past — threw  me  into  as  pretty  a  little  fit  of 
hysterics  as  you  ever  saw." 

Next  day  she  wrote  again :  "  Now  just  look  at  that ! 
If  here  isn't,  at  half  after  eleven,  when  nobody  looks  for 
the  Edinburgh  post,  your  letter,  two  newspapers,  and 
leitcrs  from  my  aunt  Anne,  Thomas  Erskine,  and  David 
Aitken  besides.  I  have  only  as  yet  read  your  letter. 
The  rest  will  keep  now.  I  had  a  nice  letter  from  Henry 
Davidson  yesterday,  as  good  as  a  newspaper  critic.  What 
pleases  me  most  in  this  business — I  mean  the  business  of 
your  success — is  the  hearty  personal  affection  towards 
you  that  comes  out  on  all  hands.  These  men  at  Forster's 
with  their  cheering — our  own  people — even  old  Silvester 
turning  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  his  lips  quivering  when 
he  tried  to  express  his  gladness  over  the  telegraph :  all 
that  is  positively  delightful,  and  makes  the  success  '  a 
good  joy  '  to  me.  No  appearance  of  envy  or  grudging  in 
anybody  ;  but  one  general,  loving,  heartfelt  throwing  up 
of  caps  with  young  and  old,  male  and  female !  If  we 
could  only  sleep,  dear,  and  what  you  call  digest,  wouldn't 
it  be  nice  ? " 

Carlyle  was  still  away  when  the  end  came.  She  had 
had  gone  out  to  drive  as  usual,  taking  with  her  a  favorite 
dog.  At  a  quiet  place  near  the  Victoria  Gate,  she  stopped 
the  carriage  to  let  the  creature  get  out  for  a  run,  and  drove 
on  slowly,  the  dog  following.  Presently  a  passing 
brougham  struck  the  dog  and  threw  it  down,  when  she 
and  the  lady  who  was  driving  the  brougham  alighted  to 
see  if  it  was  hurt.     She  stood  talking  a  moment  with  this 


102  THE   WIFE   OP   THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

lady,  then  returned  to  her  seat,  lifting  in  the  dog,  and 
again  went  on.  The  coachman  drove  for  some  time, 
until  receiving  no  further  orders,  and  noticing  that  Mrs. 
Carlyle  was  sitting  very  still,  he  became  alarmed,  and 
approaching  a  park  gate  addressed  a  lady  and  asked  her 
to  look  into  the  carriage.  The  lady  complied  ;  then 
called  a  gentleman  who  was  passing,  who  confirmed  her 
fears.  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  dead.  She  was  leaning  back 
with  eyes  closed  and  hands  lying  folded  in  her  lap,  and  a 
peaceful,  happy  expression  upon  her  face. 

Many  hours  after  the  telegram  which  announced  her 
death,  her  husband  received  from  her  a  merry,  tender 
little  letter,  putting  off  all  "long  stories"  until  next 
week,  when  he  would  be  at  home,  but  promising  another 
and  better  letter  the  next  day,  after  the  tea-party  which 
was  to  take  place  that  evening. 

When  her  friends  were  making  preparations  for  the 
burial,  the  housekeeper  told  them  that  one  night  when 
Mrs.  Carlyle  was  very  ill,  she  had  asked  that  two 
candles  which  would  be  found  upon  a  certain  shelf,  should 
be  lighted  and  burned  when  she  was  dead.  Once  (as 
she  had  proceeded  to  explain),  soon  after  coming  to 
London,  and  while  very  poor,  she  had  wished  to  give  a 
party,  and  her  mother,  who  was  staying  in  the  house,  had 
gone  out  and  bought  candles  and  confectionery,  with  which ' 
she  decorated  the  supper  room,  unknown  to  her  daughter, 
whom  she  desired  to  surprise.  But  Mrs.  Carlyle  had 
been  offended  instead  of  pleased,  explaining  that  people 
would  think  she  was  extravagant  and  meant  to  ruin  her 
husband.  She  removed  two  of  the  candles,  and  some  of 
the  delicacies,  at  which  her  mother  had  been  deeply  hurt, 
and  could  not  be  comforted.  Mrs.  Carlyle,  overcome 
with  remorse,  had  then  wrapped  the  two  candles  in  paper 
and  laid  them  aside  where  they  could  easily  be  found, 
with  the  resolve  that  they  should  serve  at  her  death. 


THE   WIFE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE.  193 

She  lies  buried  by  the  side  of  her  father  in  the  choir 
of  Haddington  Church.  Her  husband's  hand  penned  the 
words  which  the  visitor  may  read  upon  the  memorial 
stone  above  her  grave  : 

"  In  her  bright  existence  she  had  more  sorrows  than 
are  common ;  but  also  a  soft  invincibility,  a  clearness  of 
discernment,  and  a  noble  loyalty  of  heart,  which  are  rare. 
For  forty  years  she  was  the  true  and  ever-loving  help- 
mate of  her  husband,  and  by  act  and  word  unweariedly 
forwarded  him,  as  none  else  could,  in  all  of  worth  that 
he  did  or  attempted.  She  died  at  London,  21st  April, 
1866  ;  suddenly  snatched  away  from  him,  and  the  light 
of  his  life  as  if  gone  out." 


XIV. 

THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD. 

DURING  the  occupation  of  Philadelphia  by  the 
British  in  1778,  the  Quaker  city  became  the  scene 
of  unaccustomed  festivities.  Parties,  theatricals,  enter- 
tainments of  all  kinds,  some  given  in  honor  of  Lord 
Howe  and  his  officers,  the  greater  number  originating 
with  the  officers  themselves,  followed  each  other  in  quick 
succession.  Among  those  who  figured  most  prominently 
in  these  gay  scenes  were  two  individuals  who  were 
destined  not  long  afterward  to  be  involved  in  a  tragedy 
which  brought  upon  one  of  them  misery  and  disgrace, 
and  consigned  the  other  to  death  upon  the  gallows. 
These  ill-starred  persons  were  Major  Andre"  of  the  British 
army,  and  Miss  Margaret  Shippen,  a  young  lady  of  the 
city  in  which  that  army  was  quartered. 

Major  John  Andre"  was  the  son  of  a  Swiss  merchant, 
long  settled  in  London,  Avhere  he  gained  a  considerable 
fortune.  His  mother,  though  of  French  parentage,  was 
born  in  London.  The  native  language,  therefore,  of  both 
his  parents,  was  French  ;  his  name  was  French  ;  and  there 
was  in  his  character  a  spice  of  French  sentiment  and 
romance.  He  was  French  enough  to  think,  for  example, 
that  to  be  an  officer  in  an  army  is  a  thing  more  desirable, 
more  honorable,  and  more  becoming  a  man,  than  to  serve 
his  country  as  a  man  of  business.  Nevertheless,  when 
he  was  a  lad  of  seventeen,  his  father  placed  him  in  a 
counting-house,  where  he  remained,  plying  the  assiduous 
pen,  till  he  wr.s  past  twenty-one. 

(194) 


THE  WIPE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.         195 

He  was  an  agreeable,  winning,  and  handsome  youth. 
The  diligence  of  his  biographer,  the  late  Winthrop  Sar- 
gent, has  brought  together  some  of  his  earliest  letters, 
written  when  he  was  passionately  in  love  with  an 
extremely  beautiful  girl,  who  afterwards  married  the 
father  of  the  celebrated  Miss  Edgeworth.  He  drew  the 
portrait  of  this  lady,  which  still  exists,  with  several  other 
efforts  of  his  pencil  and  brush.  His  letters  reveal  to  us 
an  affectionate,  ardent,  innocent  mind,  and  a  talent  for 
composition  which  practice  might  have  developed  into  a 
decided  gift.  He  tells  his  beloved  in  one  of  his  letters 
how  much  he  hates  the  slavery  of  his  desk,  and  how  he 
sits  in  the  counting-house  and  indulges  his  imagination 
with  anticipations  of  the  future. 

"  Borne  on  the  soaring  pinions  of  an  ardent  imagina- 
tion," he  writes,  "  I  wing  my  flight  to  the  time  when 
Heaven  shall  have  crowned  my  labors  with  success  and 
opulence.  I  see  sumptuous  palaces  rising  to  receive  me  ; 
I  see  orphans  and  widows,  and  painters  and  fiddlers,  and 
poets  and  builders  protected  and  encouraged ;  and  when 
the  fabric  is  pretty  nearly  finished  by  my  shattered  peri- 
cranium, I  cast  my  eyes  around  and  find  John  Andre"  by 
a  small  coal  fire,  in  a  gloomy  counting-house  inWarnford 
Court,  nothing  so  little  as  what  he  has  been  making 
himself,  and,  in  all  probability,  never  to  be  much  more 
than  he  is  at  present.  But,  oh  !  My  dear  Honora  !  It 
is  for  thy  sake  only  I  wish  for  wealth." 

Many  of  his  letters  are  in  this  strain.  He  tells  her,  in 
one  of  them,  that,  for  her  sake  he  has  overcome  his  repug- 
nance to  a  mercantile  life,  and  that,  if  ever  something 
whispers  in  his  ear  that  he  is  not  of  the  right  stuff  for  a 
merchant,  he  draws  his  Honora's  picture  from  his  bosom, 
and  the  sight  of  that  dear  talisman  so  inspirits  his 
industry,  that  no  toil  appears  distressing. 

But  this  romantic  affection  in  a  merchant's  clerk  of 


196  THE   WIFE   OF   BENEDICT   ARNOLD. 

eighteen  had  no  results.  Soon  after  coming  of  age  he 
entered  the  army,  and,  about  two  years  after,  his  Honora 
gave  her  hand  to  that  terrific  being  whom  lovers  are 
supposed  to  style  with  gnashing  teeth  —  "another."  In 
1774,  the  year  before  the  revolutionary  war  began,  he  was 
ordered  to  Canada  to  join  his  regiment. 

Scarcely  had  the  contest  begun  when  he  was  taken 
prisoner  by  General  Montgomery  at  the  capture  of  St. 
Johns  ;  and  he  was  held  on  his  parole  for  about  fourteen 
months.  The  American  troops,  he  says  in  one  of  his  let- 
ters, robbed  him  of  everything  he  had  except  a  miniature 
of  his  Honora,  which  he  concealed  in  his  mantle ;  and 
having  preserved  that,  he  thought  himself  lucky.  He 
spent  most  of  his  time  as  a  prisoner  at  Lancaster  and 
Carlisle,  in  Pennsylvania,  having  the  liberty  to  go  to  a 
distance  of  six  miles  from  his  appointed  residence.  His 
chief  amusement  was  drawing  and  painting,  and  he  gave 
instructions  in  those  arts  to  the  young  people  of  the 
families  he  visited,  some  of  whom  preserve  to  this  day 
specimens  of  his  skill.  The  grandfather  of  the  late 
Caleb  Cope,  of  Philadelphia,  of  the  eminent  mercantile 
family  of  that  name,  was  one  of  his  pupils  in  1776. 
There  is  still  a  tradition  in  those  towns  of  his  agreeable 
and  polite  behavior. 

After  his  exchange  he  was  stationed  for  a  while  in  the l 
city  of  New  York,  where  he  held  the  rank  of  captain.  He 
probably  owed  his  further  rise  in  the  army  to  a  memoir 
which  he  wrote  upon  the  war,  in  which  he  embodied  the 
results  of  his  observations  during  his  long  confinement, 
and  in  preparing  which  he  was  aided  by  a  journal  care- 
fully kept,  and  illustrated  by  drawings  of  everything 
curious  and  rare  that  he  had  seen.  The  intelligence  dis- 
played in  this  memoir  procured  him  a  staff  appointment, 
and  finally  led  to  his  being  adjutant-general  of  the  whole 
army.  He  was  eminently  fitted  to  shine  upon  a  general's 
staff. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.  197 

During  the  British  occupation  of  Philadelphia,  Major 
Andre  was  one  of  those  who  were  quartered  in  Dr.  Frank- 
lin's house,  from  which  the  family  had  fled.  Amateur 
theatricals  were  the  reigning  amusement  of  that  winter, 
and  it  was  Andre"  who  painted  the  drop  curtain,  and  most 
of  the  scenery,  some  of  which  did  duty  in  a  Philadelphia 
theatre  many  years  after  the  war.  The  drop  curtain  was 
in  use  until  1821.  One  of  the  plays  in  which  he  took 
part  was  "  The  Liar,"  which  was  revived  a  few  years  ago 
in  the  city  of  New  York.  Andre"  amused  the  garrison 
also  with  various  comic  pieces  of  verse,  in  the  style  of 
Yankee  Doodle,  designed  to  cast  ridicule  upon  the  starv- 
ing and  shivering  patriot  army  at  Valley  Forge. 

With  all  his  talents,  he  was  one  of  the  last  men  in  the 
British  army  to  he  employed  in  any  affair  requiring  nerve 
and  duplicity.  Brave  and  high-principled  he  was ; 
but  he  had  not  the  toughness  of  fibre,  the  coolness  of 
temperament,  the  fertility  of  resources,  and  the  callous- 
ness of  conscience  requisite  in  a  man  who  ventures  into 
the  lion's  den  with  intent  to  deceive  and  entrap  the  lion. 
He  was  too  talkative,  too  confiding,  too  sensitive,  too 
quick  in  surrendering  the  game.  He  would  have  led  a 
forlorn  hope  up  into  the  breach  of  a  beleagured  city  with 
the  most  splendid  valor  ;  but  he  was  not  the  man  for  the 
complicated,  cool-blooded  business  of  a  spy. 

Peggy  Shippen,  as  she  was  usually  called,  was  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  young  ladies  in  Philadelphia,  and  a 
member  of  one  of  its  most  distinguished  and  ancient 
families.  Her  father,  Judge  Edward  Shippen,  was  a 
wealthy  and  hospitable  gentleman  of  Quaker  lineage,  the 
owner  of  a  fine  mansion,  the  orchard  and  grounds  of 
which  were  famed  throughout  the  colonics.  He  was,  like 
many  of  the  old  Quaker  residents,  a  Tory  in  his  feelings, 
and,  prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  British,  had  been  several 
times  fined  for  his  neglect  of  militia  duty,  to  which,  of 


193  THE   WIFE   OP  BENEDICT   ARNOLD. 

course,  he  was  averse.  His  pretty  daughter  was  naturally 
of  her  father's  politics,  and,  probably,  owing  to  her  age 
and  sex,  she  was  a  Tory  of  a  more  positive  cast  than  he. 
Her  loyalty  could  not  but  be  much  strengthened  by  the 
opportune  arrival  of  a  large  body  of  victorious  troops, 
whose  officers  showed  every  disposition  to  appreciate  her 
devotion  to  their  cause.  Her  father's  house  soon  became 
a  popular  resort  with  these  gentlemen,  who  always  found 
a  welcome  there ;  and  the  most  frequent  and  favored 
visitor  among  them  was  Major  Andre. 

In  the  gorgeous  festival  given  in  honor  of  Lord  Howe 
just  before  his  departure  for  England,  both  Major  Andre* 
and  Miss  Shippen  were  conspicuous  figures.  The  celebra- 
tion, which  from  its  mingled  character  was  named  the 
Misehianza,  included  a  regatta,  a  mock-tournament,  a 
ball,  a  supper,  and  a  display  of  fireworks.  In  the  tourna- 
ment, which  was  the  most  novel  and  brilliant  feature  of 
the  occasion,  Major  Andre-  was  one  of  the  Knights,  and 
Miss  Shippen  one  of  the  fourteen  chosen  damsels  in 
whose  honor  the  jousting  took  place. 

The  two  sides,  as  we  learn  from  an  elaborate  account 
which  Major  Andre  wrote  to  a  friend,  adopted  for  their 
distinguishing  devices,  the  one  a  Burning  Mountain,  with 
the  motto  1  bum  forever,  the  other  a  Blended  Rose,  of 
red  and  white  intertwined,  with  the  motto  We  droop  when 
separated.  A  distinguishing  costume  was  worn  by  the 
knights  and  ladies  of  each  party,  in  addition  to  which 
each  knight  bore  a  shield  with  his  private  motto  and 
device,  and  each  lady  wore  a  favor  intended  to  be  given 
as  a  reward  to  her  champion. 

The  costumes — at  least,  those  of  the  ladies — were 
made  in  accordance  with  designs  prepared  by  Major 
Andre1.  He  refers  to  them  as  Turkish  habits,  although 
there  was  nothing  beyond  a  veil  and  turban  to  indicate 
such  a  nationality.     Trowsers  are  not  mentioned,  and  he 


THE   WIFE    OP   BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  199 

probably  considered  it  within  the  license  of  an  artist  to 
provide  a  substitute  for  them. 

The  costume  therefore  in  which  Miss  Shippen,  as  a 
Lady  of  the  Blended  Rose,  was  arrayed  on  this  occasion, 
consisted  of  a  flowing  robe  of  white  silk,  a  rose-colored 
sash  covered  with  spangles,  spangled  shoes  and  stockings, 
a  spangled  veil  trimmed  with  silver  lace,  and  a  towering 
turban  adorned  with  pearls  and  jewels.  To  us  this 
description  conveys  a  slight  suggestion  of  the  circus ; 
but  we  must  remember  it  was  made  before  the  day  of 
aesthetic  art,  and  that  it  was  designed  by  a  man.  It  is 
probable,  too,  that  Peggy  Shippen  was  lovely  enough  to 
look  well  even  in  spangled  incongruity. 

The  tournament  took  place  upon  the  lawn  in  front  of 
the  house  of  Mr.  Wharton,  a  beautiful  green  slope  rising 
by  a  gentle  ascent  from  the  Delaware  river.  The  com- 
pany, who  arrived  in  boats,  were  marshaled  to  their 
places  in  the  procession,  and  advanced  to  the  stirring 
music  of  "  all  the  bands  in  the  army,"  through  an  avenue 
formed  by  two  lines  of  grenadiers,  and  spanned  by  two 
triumphal  arches. 

"  Two  pavilions,"  wrote  Major  Andre*,  "  with  rows  of 
benches  rising  one  above  the  other,  and  serving  as  wings 
of  the  first  triumphal  arch,  received  the  ladies  ;  while  the 
gentlemen  rauged  themselves  in  convenient  order  on 
each  side." 

Upon  the  front  seat  of  one  of  these  pavilions  sat  the 
seven  ladies  of  the  Blended  Rose,  doubtless  in  a  flutter, 
wondering  how  their  knights  would  acquit  themselves. 
Presently  these  gentlemen,  attired  in  red  and  white  silk, 
mounted  upon  gray  horses,  and  each  attended  by  his 
squire,  made  the  circuit  of  the  field,  preceded  by  their 
Herald.  Each  saluted  his  lady  in  passing,  and  they  then 
ranged  themselves  in  line  before  the  pavilion.  The 
Herald  proclaimed  the  superiority  of   the  ladies  of  the 


200  THE    "WIFE    OF    BENEDICT    ARNOLD. 

Blended  Rose  to  all  others  in  "  wit,  beauty,  and  every 
accomplishment "  ;  and  added  to  that,  should  this  asser- 
tion be  disputed,  their  knights  were  ready  to  maintain  it 
by  force  of  arms.  The  Herald  of  the  Burning  Mountain 
did  dispute  the  bold  assertion  ;  the  knights  of  that  device 
rode  in  ;  a  gauntlet  was  thrown  down  and  taken  up  ;  and 
presently  the  jousting  began. 

"  The  knights  then  received  their  lances  from  their 
esquires,"  says  Major  Andr6,  "  fixed  their  shields  on  their 
left  arms,  and  making  a  general  salute  to  each  other,  by  a 
very  graceful  movement  of  their  lances,  turned  round  to 
take  their  career,  and,  encountering  in  full  gallop,  shivered 
their  spears.  In  the  second  and  third  encounter  they 
discharged  their  pistols.  In  the  fourth  they  fought  with 
their  swords." 

The  two  chiefs  then  engaged  in  single  combat,  and 
fought  until  the  Heralds  interfered  and  declared  that  the 
ladies  were  satisfied.  A  procession  was  again  formed  ; 
the  knights  dismounted  and  joined  the  ladies  ;  and  all 
passed  through  the  garden  and  into  the  house,  where  in  a 
beautiful  hall  the  knights  kneeling  received  each  a  favor 
from  his  lady.  What  was  the  favor  that  Peggy  Shippen 
bestowed  is  not  recorded  ;  but  the  fortunate  warrior  who 
received  it  was  a  Lieutenant  Sloper,  who  had  borne  his 
part  in  the  tourney  with  the  device  of  a  Heart  and 
Sword  upon  his  shield  ;  his  motto  was  Honor  and  the  Fair. 

Shortly  after  this  grand  festival,  Philadelphia  was 
abandoned  by  the  British.  When  we  next  hear  of  Mar- 
garet Shippen  she  is  a  married  woman,  the  wife  of  an 
American  general.  Her  husband  was  no  other  than 
Benedict  Arnold,  the  commander  of  the  American  troops 
that  occupied  the  city  after  the  departure  of  the  enemy. 

This  post  Arnold  held  for  nine  months,  and  during 
that  period  conducted  himself  in  a  manner  so  arbitrary 
that  the  council  of  Pennsylvania  charged  him  with  mis- 


THE   WIFE   OF   BENEDICT   ARNOLD.  201 

conduct,  and  demanded  a  trial  by  court-martial.  He  was 
tried,  and  sentenced  to  be  reprimanded  by  the  commander- 
in-chief,  who  showed  as  much  leniency  as  possible  in  the 
discharge  of  this  unpleasant  duty.  Throughout  his  trial 
Arnold  professed  himself  devotedly  attached  to  his  coun- 
try ;  yet  he  had  for  some  months  been  carrying  on  a 
treasonable  correspondence  with  the  enemy.  His  letters, 
signed  Grustavus,  were  sent  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  who 
entrusted  to  Major  Andre"  the  task  of  answering  them. 
The  replies  were  signed  John  Anderson.  Neither  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  nor  Major  Andre*  knew  with  whom  they 
were  corresponding,  until  gradually  the  information  con- 
tained in  the  letters  betrayed  the  author. 

On  the  sixth  of  August,  1779,  Mrs.  Arnold  had  the 
pleasure  of  receiving  a  letter  from  her  old  friend,  Major 
Andre*,  then  in  New  York.  A  year  had  passed  since  they 
parted ;  yet  he  had  never  written  to  her  before,  nor  did 
he  continue  the  correspondence  thus  abruptly  opened. 

"  Madame,'' —  so  runs  the  letter  —  "  Major  Giles  is  so 
good  as  to  take  charge  of  this  letter,  which  is  meant  to 
solicit  your  remembrance,  and  to  assure  you  that  my 
respect  for  you,  and  the  iair  circle  in  which  I  had  the 
honor  of  becoming  acquainted  with  you,  remains  unim- 
paired by  distance  or  political  broils.  It  would  make  me 
very  happy  to  become  useful  to  you  here.  You  know  the 
Mesquianza  made  me  a  complete  milliner.  Should  you 
not  have  received  supplies  for  your  fullest  equipment  from 
that  department,  I  shall  be  glad  to  enter  into  the  whole 
detail  of  cap-wire,  needles,  gauze,  etc.,  and,  to  the  best  of 
my  abilities,  render  you  in  these  trifles  services  from 
which  I  hope  you  would  infer  a  zeal  to  be  further 
employed.  I  beg  you  would  present  my  best  respects  to 
your  sisters,  to  the  Miss  Chews,  and  to  Mrs.  Shippen  and 
Mrs.  Chew.  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  with  the  greatest 
regard,  Madame,  your  most  obedient  and  most  humble 
servant,  John  Andre*." 


202         THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD. 

There  has  been  much  discussion  with  regard  to  this 
letter.  Many  deem  it  to  be  what  it  purports  to  be  —  a 
letter  of  friendship,  and  nothing  more.  Others  think 
with  much  probability,  that  it  was  written  to  indicate,  by 
a  veiled  allusion  to  "  further  employment,"  and  by  the 
similarity  of  the  handwriting  to  that  of  "  John  Ander- 
son," who  that  mysterious  individual  really  was.  It  is 
worded,  moreover,  in  a  careful  and  conciliatory  manner. 
The  slighting  reference  to  the  war  as  "  political  broils," 
is  immediately  noticeable.  Whether,  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  character  of  his  fair  Tory  friend,  he  imagined  that, 
since  there  was  a  plot,  she  would  be  sure  to  be  in  it,  or 
whether  he  wrote  the  letter  merely  that  she  might  show 
it  to  her  husband,  we  can  only  conjecture. 

In  1780,  with  the  express  and  deliberate  purpose  of 
betraying  an  important  post,  Benedict  Arnold  solicited 
an  appointment  to  the  command  at  West  Point.  Shortly 
after  his  removal  to  this  place  he  was  joined  by  his  wife, 
whose  beauty  and  agreeable  manners  had  already  made 
her  as  popular  with  the  American  officers,  in  spite  of  her 
well-known  Tory  inclinations,  as  she  had  been  with  the 
British.  But  her  American  admirers  had  neither  time 
nor  opportunity  to  enjoy  her  society  as  their  enemies  had 
done.  "  Political  broils,"  perhaps,  appeared  to  them  too 
serious  a  matter  to  permit  of  such  distractions  as  balls 
and  amateur  theatricals.  And  if,  while  still  in  her  native 
city,  surrounded  by  old  friends  and  new  acquaintances, 
Mrs.  Arnold  looked  back  with  regret  to  the  gayeties  of 
the  British  occupation,  she  could  scarcely  have  found  the 
military  routine  of  life  at  West  Point  much  to  her  taste. 

Meanwhile,  the  treacherous  plans  of  her  husband  were 
maturing.  The  impulse  that  precipitated  Andre*  upon 
his  fate  was,  as  we  can  clearly  discern  in  the  records  of 
the  time,  honorable  and  patriotic.  He  looked  forward 
with  the  utmost  confidence  to  being  the  means  oi  putting 


THE  WIFE  OP  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.         203 

an  end  to  the  war  through  the  defection  of  Arnold  and 
the  capture  of  West  Point.  Immense  supplies  had  been 
gathered  in  and  about  that  post,  which  had  been  fortified 
by  three  years'  constant  labor  of  a  large  force  of  men, 
and  an  expenditure  of  three  millions  of  dollars.  The 
post  was  not  only  of  infinite  value  as  keeping  open  com- 
munication between  the  various  posts  of  the  country,  but 
it  was  relied  upon  as  a  last  resort  for  the  army  in  case 
a  series  of  disasters  should  render  an  impregnable  refuge 
necessary.  It  was  Andre"  s  belief  that  the  patriot  cause 
could  not  survive  the  two-fold  calamity  of  the  defection 
of  so  important  an  officer,  and  the  loss  of  so  important  a 
place. 

At  the  ancient  mansion  of  Jacobus  Kip,  which  stood  at 
what  we  now  call  the  corner  of  Second  avenue  and 
Thirty-fourth  street,  Major  Andre*  dined,  for  the  last 
time,  with  Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  his  staff,  before  leaving 
New  York  for  his  fatal  interview  with  Arnold.  After 
dinner,  when  he  was  called  upon,  as  usual,  for  a  song, 
he  gave  the  one  attributed  to  General  Wolfe,  who  sang  it 
the  evening  before  he  climbed  the  heights  of  Quebec : 

"Why,  soldiers,  why 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys? 
Why,  soldiers,  why, 
Whose  business  'tis  to  die! 
For  should  the  next  campaign 
Send  us  to  Him  who  made  us,  boys, 
We're  free  from  pain ; 
But  should  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 
Makes  all  well  again." 

Thus  sang  the  light-hearted  soldier  of  twenty-nine, 
with  his  comrades  around  him,  and  his  general  at  the 
head  of  the  table.  Early  the  next  morning  he  started  on 
his  mission.  Four  days  after,  he  was  a  prisoner.  Nine 
days  after,  he  swung  from  a  gibbet. 

13 


20-4  THE   WIFE   OF  BENEDICT   ARNOLD. 

The  scenes  which  occurred  at  West  Point  during  those 
momentous  days  are  too  well  known  to  require  repetition 
here.  Let  us  merely  recall  those  in  which  Mrs.  Arnold 
so  unhappily  figured.  It  so  chanced,  as  the  reader  is 
aware,  that  General  Washington  was  then  upon  his  way 
*to  meet  Count  de  Rochambeau  at  West  Point.  He  and 
his  suite  were  nearing  this  place  in  the  early  morning, 
when  he  paused,  and  turning  his  horse  into  a  by-way 
leading  to  the  river,  was  about  to  ride  on  in  that  direc- 
tion. Lafayette,  who  was  beside  him,  protested,  saying 
that  word  had  been  sent  to  West  Point  that  they  wTere 
coming,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  cause  Mrs.  Arnold  to 
wait  breakfast. 

"Ah,"  replied  Washington,  "I  know  you  young  men 
are  all  in  love  with  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  wish  to  get  where 
she  is  as  soon  as  possible.  You  may  go  and  take  your 
breakfast  with  her,  and  tell  her  not  to  wait  for  me.  I 
must  ride  down  and  examine  the  redoubts  on  this  side  of 
the  river,  and  will  be  there  in  a  short  time." 

Lafayette  chose  to  remain  with  his  chief.  Two  aides 
were  sent  on  with  the  message,  who,  upon  arriving,  sat 
down  to  the  table  with  General  and  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  a 
few  officers.  They  were  still  occupied  with  their  meal 
when  a  letter  was  delivered  to  General  Arnold  which 
caused  him,  apparently,  some  slight  embarrassment.  He 
remained  in  his  place  for  some  minutes,  continuing  to 
sustain  his  part  in  the  conversation  ;  then,  urging  the 
plea  of  business,  and  requesting  his  guests  to  excuse  him 
and  make  themselves  at  home  during  his  absence,  which 
should  be  brief,  he  left  the  room. 

News  traveled  slowly  in  those  times.  Two  full  days 
had  then  passed  since  the  arrest  of  Andre*.  The  letter 
which  Arnold  received  was  the  one  written  by  Colonel 
Jameson  to  inform  him  of  that  arrest  and  of  the  trans- 
mission of  the  fatal  papers  to  Washington.  There  was 
obviously  not  a  moment  to  be  lost. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.  205 

Hastily  giving  the  orders  necessary  for  his  escape,  he 
entered  his  wife's  room  to  bid  her  farewell.  She  was 
there  awaiting  him.  Her  quick  eye  had  told  her  that 
something  serious  had  occurred,  and  his  forced  calmness 
at  the  table  had  not  deceived  her.  She,  too,  had 
excused  herself  to  her  guests,  and  gone  to  her  room, 
ready  to  receive  his  confidence.  In  a  few  hurried  words 
he  explained  to  her  the  necessity  of  his  immediate 
departure.  She,  overcome  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
blow,  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror  that  summoned  her  maid 
to  the  spot;  while  he,  clasping  her  once  more  in  his 
arms  as  she  appeared  about  to  faint,  kissed  her  and  his 
child,  bade  the  girl  attend  to  her,  and  hurried  from  the 
room.  On  his  way  out  of  the  house  he  paused  a  moment 
at  the  dining-room  to  explain  to  the  guests  that  Mrs. 
Arnold  was  suddenly  seized  with  illness  and  could  not 
leave  her  chamber.  Then  he  mounted  his  horse  and 
dashed  at  full  speed  toward  the  river. 

Not  long  after,  Washington  arrived,  and  was  surprised 
and  displeased  to  learn  of  Arnold's  departure.  He  spent 
a  couple  of  hours  in  inspecting  the  fort,  and  then  recrossed 
the  river  and  rode  with  his  suite  to  Robinson's  House. 
Here  he  found  awaiting  him  the  papers  which  explained 
the  plot.  Hastily  despatching  some  officers  in  pursuit  of 
Arnold,  he  returned  to  West  Point  and  at  once  asked  to 
see  Mrs.  Arnold. 

She  was  apparently  distracted.  Her  condition  was 
pitiable  to  witness,  and  convinced  all  present  that  she 
was  not  implicated  in  her  husband's  treason.  She  pro- 
tested her  innocence  ;  she  wept,  she  raved,  she  evinced 
at  times  the  utmost  terror  if  approached,  declaring  wildly 
that  the  life  of  her  child  —  a  baby  in  arms  —  was 
endangered  ;  that  they  meant  to  murder  it.  In  short, 
she  appeared  as  if  crazed  by  sorrow.  General  Washing- 
ton and  his  aides,  touched  with  pity  for  her  condition, 


206  THE   WIFE   OF   BENEDICT   ARNOLD. 

soon  left  her  to  her  grief,  and  withdrew  to  the  dining- 
room  to  discuss  further  measures. 

They  were  still  seated  at  the  table  when  two  letters 
from  Arnold  were  brought  in ;  one  addressed  to  the  com- 
manding general,  and  the  other  to  Mrs.  Arnold.  In  the 
first  he  declared  her  innocence  and  requested  protection 
for  her.  Upon  reading  it  Washington  at  once  turned  to 
an  aide. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  "  to  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  inform  her  that 
i hough  my  duty  required  that  no  means  should  be 
neglected  to  arrest  General  Arnold,  I  have  great  pleasure 
in  acquainting  her  that  he  is  now  safe  on  board  a  British 
vessel  of  war." 

Mrs.  Arnold's  conduct  had  convinced  General  Washing- 
ton and  his  staff  of  her  innocence,  especially  the  young 
and  ardent  Hamilton,  who  has  left  us  a  moving  account 
of  her  beauty  and  distress.  But  public  opinion  con- 
demned her,  and  the  residents  of  her  native  city  in 
particular  were  convinced  that  she  was  her  husband's 
accomplice,  if  indeed  she  had  not  tempted  him  to  treason. 
They  knew  her  best,  and  we  are  justified  in  saying  that 
they  were  right. 

One  evening,  not  long  after  the  events  just  narrated, 
Colonel  Aaron  Burr  was  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Theodosia 
Prevost,  the  accomplished  lady  whom  he  afterwards 
married.  Suddenly,  horses'  hoofs  were  heard  upon  the 
road  without,  and  presently  a  lady  in  a  riding  habit,  veiled, 
burst  into  the  room,  and  hurried  up  to  Mrs.  Prevost. 
She  was  about  to  speak,  when  she  observed  Colonel  Burr, 
although  without  recognizing  him  in  the  dim  light.  She 
paused  and  asked  anxiously  : 

"  Am  I  safe  ?     Is  this  gentleman  a  friend  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Mrs.  Prevost  answered,  "  he  is  my  most 
particular  friend,  Colonel  Burr." 

"  Thank  God !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  who  was  none  other 


THE  WIFE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD. 


20T 


than  Mrs.  Arnold  ;  "  I've  been  playing  the  hypocrite,  and 
I'm  tired  of  it." 

Colonel  Burr  was  also  an  old  friend  of  herself  and  the 
Shippen  family.  He  had  been  an  inmate  of  her  father's 
house.  Feeling  herself  at  liberty  to  speak  freely  at  last, 
Mrs.  Arnold  avowed  her  deception  of  General  Washing- 
ton, who  had  even  given  her  an  escort  of  horse  from 
West  Point.  She  further  confessed  that  she  had  been 
aware  of  the  whole  progress  of  the  plot,  and  that  it  was 
she  who  had  induced  her  husband  to  betray  his  country. 
She  passed  the  night  at  Airs.  Prevost's  house,  being  care- 
ful, when  strangers  entered  the  room,  to  resume  the 
piteous  and  distracted  bearing  which  had  already  served 
her  so  well. 

Many  have  doubted  the  truth  of  this  incident  because 
it  rests  upon  the  word  of  Aaron  Burr.  But  Burr,  what- 
ever his  faults,  was  by  no  means  the  man  to  invent  a  lie 
which  could  be  of  no  service  to  himself  or  any  one 
else,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  telling  it.  His  story  is  but 
too  probable.  False,  frivolous,  and  ambitious,  she 
naturally  desired,  after  the  taste  of  distinction  she  had 
enjoyed  during  the  days  of  the  British  occupation, 
followed  by  the  bitter  ordeal  of  her  husband's  disgrace  in 
the  eyes  of  her  own  Philadelphians,  to  escape  to  the 
brilliant  social  life  of  England. 

Upon  reaching  Philadelphia,  where  she  wished  to  reside 
for  a  while  with  her  family,  the  authorities  refused  to 
allow  her  to  remain,  although  she  protested  her  patriotism, 
promised  to  write  no  letters  to  her  husband  until  after  the 
war,  and  to  send  all  received  from  him  at  once  to  the 
government.  She  was  forced  to  go  to  New  York,  where, 
after  a  period  of  suitable  dejection,  she  again  entered 
society  and  shone  as  brilliantly  as  ever. 

Her  life  in  England,  when  at  length  she  was  enabled 
to   rejoin   her   husband   there,  can   scarcely  have   been 


208         THE  WIFE  OP  BENEDICT  ARNOLD. 

agreeable  to  her.  Arnold  received  some  compensation  in 
money  and  in  military  rank  from  the  British  government ; 
but  men  of  honor  would  not  know  him,  and  he  was 
frequently  insulted.  His  wife  shared  the  mortification 
which  such  slights  inflicted.  Of  her  subsequent  life, 
history  gives  us  but  a  few  faint  glimpses. 

One  of  these  shows  her  standing  at  his  side  in  West- 
minster Abbey  before  the  monument  erected  by  the  king 
to  the  memory  of  her  old  friend  Major  Andre,  reading  the 
inscription  that  told  of  his  untimely  death — due,  indeed, 
if  Burr's  story  be  true,  in  large  measure  to  her  influence. 

The  reader  has,  perhaps,  seen,  or  will  see,  the  monu- 
ment to  Andre"  in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  has  a  very 
insignificant  appearance,  but  the  name  in  the  inscription 
arrests  every  American  eye,  and  the  few  words  accom- 
panying it  impress  every  American  mind  : 

"  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Major  John  Andre,  who, 
raised  by  his  merit,  at  an  early  period  of  life,  to  the  rank 
of  Adjutant-General  of  the  British  Forces  in  America, 
and  employed  in  an  important  but  hazardous  enterprise, 
fell  a  sacrifice  to  his  zeal  for  his  king  and  country,  on  the 
second  of  October,  1780,  aged  twenty-nine ;  universally 
beloved  and  esteemed  by  the  army  in  which  he  served, 
and  lamented  even  by  his  foes.  His  gracious  Sovereign, 
King  George  the  Third,  has  caused  this  monument  to  be 
erected." 

Mrs.  Arnold  returned  at  length  to  her  native  country. 
Her  husband  dead,  her  children  mature  and  settled  in 
life,  she  left  a  country  where  her  illusions  had  been  de- 
stroyed and  her  hopes  unfulfilled,  and  came  home  to  die. 

To  America  she  came,  but  not  to  her  old  family  home 
in  Philadelphia  ;  not  to  her  relatives  and  friends — if  any 
friends  there  remained  to  her.  She  did  not  enter  Penn- 
sylvania. She  preferred  to  remain  in  Massachusetts,  the 
state  where  an  ancestor  of  hers  had  been  publicly  whipped 


THE  WIPE  OF  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.         209 

for  being  a  Quaker.  She  died  at  Uxbridge,  Mass.,  Febru- 
ary 14,  1834,  eighty-three  years  of  age. 

Some  of  her  descendants  still  survive  in  England, 
worthy  and  honorable  persons.  The  present  head  of  the 
family  is  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  owner 
of  the  estate  of  Little  Messenden  Abbey,  in  Buckingham- 
shire. He  is  now  a  wealthy  man,  a  tract  of  land  near 
Toronto  granted  by  the  government  to  Benedict  Arnold, 
having  recently  become  of  great  value.  He  is  a  kindly 
and  pleasant  gentleman,  and  not  at  all  averse  to  talking 
of  an  ancestor  of  whom  he  cannot  be  proud.  One  of  the 
sons  of  the  traitor  died  a  few  years  ago,  a  Lieutenant- 
General  of  the  British  army. 

At  Tappantown,  in  Rockland  county,  New  York,  a 
village  about  three  miles  west  of  the  Hudson  river,  and 
about  forty  from  the  city,  there  is  an  elevated  field,  in  the 
midst  of  which  there  might  have  been  seen  till  recently 
a  withered  tree,  and  a  heap  of  stones ;  and  for  a  little 
space  round  about,  the  ground  was  never  ploughed. 
Strangers  occasionally  came,  who  gazed  upon  the  spot 
with  evident  interest.  It  is  a  pleasant,  romantic  region, 
interesting  to  New  Yorkers  because  of  the  vicinity  of 
Rockland  Lake,  which  supplies  us  with  part  of  our  ice, 
and  gives  name  to  much  of  the  rest. 

This  heap  of  stones  marked  the  spot  where  the  remains 
of  Major  Andre"  reposed  from  the  day  of  his  execution  in 
1T80,  until  1821,  when  they  were  transferred  to  West- 
minster Abbey  in  London.  His  grave  was  dug  directly  be- 
neath the  gallows,  and  there  he  was  interred  at  the  depth  of 
three  or  four  feet.  A  peach-tree,  planted  by  a  sympathetic 
woman's  hand  to  mark  the  grave,  struck  down  its  roots, 
pierced  the  coffin,  and  formed  a  net-work  of  fibres  around 
the  skull.  This  tree  was  taken  up  with  the  remains  and 
replanted  in  one  of  the  royal  gardens  in  London.  The 
skeleton,   enclosed   in    a   mahogany    coffin,   which    was 


i       .     .  -  il.  :...-.-  ._t  :i  ~    r  ~_1_  :   ;  ::-t:  "     i    r:_:    lz.£ 

1 i  _i  .  Z:  :  -^  ~  i_-  :--_:    _i ~-. /:t.  _  "_;  i":  :~~ 

i_  -  -i       "  :  t      -    ".-"    -    Z      '  -       j    ::    .  ~  ~  -  :  t    ~    its  "lZ-e 
-'•-~  --ixi  7-tZul.zl-^i  ll  l  ;i_<r-_~  izzt   *-.~~~  .  ~;~      ^~    :^i:r. 


ADELAIDE   PROCTOR. 


XV. 

ADELAIDE  PROCTER. 

THERE  are  many  who  love  this  sweet  and  gentle 
poet.  Patience,  disinterested  devotion,  faith, 
earnestness,  courage,  these  are  the  themes  which  inspired 
her  songs,  and  frequently  the  virtues  which  they  directly 
urge  upon  the  reader.  None  of  her  poems  lapse  into 
rhymed  sermons ;  they  are  true  poems,  when  most  moral 
and  didactic.  Of  their  authoress  we  know  little,  but  that 
little  is  just  what  it  is  most  pleasing  to  know.  We  learn, 
on  the  authority  of  Charles  Dickens,  that  her  poems  were 
but  the  expression  of  her  daily  life ;  she  was  a  too  ardu- 
ous worker,  a  faithful  friend,  a  devoted  helper  of  the  poor 
and  suffering. 

When  she  was  yet  too  young  to  write,  Dickens  tells  us, 
in  the  preface  which  he  wrote  for  an  edition  of  her  works, 
she  had  a  little  album  made  of  small  sheets  of  note-paper 
neatly  sewed  together,  into  which  her  mother  copied  for 
her  her  favorite  verses.  This  little  book  she  read  and  re- 
read, and  constantly  carried  about  with  her.  In  her  studies 
she  displayed  a  precocious  ability,  learning  easily  and 
rapidly,  and  showing  a  remarkable  memory.  As  she 
grew  older  she  acquired  French,  German,  and  Italian, 
played  well  upon  the  piano,  and  evinced  a  marked  talent 
for  drawing  ;  but  she  tired  of  each  of  these  branches  when 
she  had  mastered  its  chief  difficulties.  Her  father,  Bryan 
Waller  Procter  (the  poet  known  as  Barry  Cornwall), 
although  he  considered  her  a  girl  of  unusual  capacity, 
never  suspected  that  she  had  inherited  his  poetical  gift, 
nor  did  he  know  that  she  had  ever  composed  a  line  of 

(213) 


214  ADELAIDE    PROCTER. 

poetry,  until  her  first  verses  appeared  in  print.  These 
were  published  in  the  Book  of  Beauty,  and  a  few  others 
followed  in  various  magazines,  hut  her  first  volume, 
entitled  A  Chaplet  of  Verses,  was  not  issued  until  186*2, 
when  she  was  thirty-seven  years  of  age. 

This  little  volume  was  published  for  the  benefit  of  a 
London  Night-Refuge,  and  in  a  preface  Miss  Procter 
advances  the  claims  of  the  institution,  narrates  its  his- 
tory, and  solicits  aid  for  its  treasury.  But  she  makes  a 
much  more  powerful  plea  in  two  of  the  poems — "Home- 
less," and  "  The  Homeless  Poor."  The  latter,  a  striking 
dialogue  between  the  Angel  of  Prayers  and  the  Angel  of 
Deeds,  in  which  the  splendid  services  going  on  within  the 
churches  of  the  city  are  contrasted  with  the  misery  of  the 
poor  creatures  left  shivering  in  the  streets  at  night,  is 
still  a  favorite  with  many  of  her  readers.  Some  of  the 
other  poems  too — such  as  "  Milly's  Expiation,"  a  story 
told  by  an  Irish  priest,  "  A  Legend,"  and  "  Our  Titles," 
are  in  her  best  manner.  Many  of  the  poems  pertain  to 
her  faith — she  was  a  Roman  Catholic — but  it  is  not 
necessary  to  be  a  catholic  to  appreciate  the  artistic  beauty 
of  such  pieces  as  the  "  Shrines  of  Mary,"  and  "  A  Chaplet 
of  Flowers." 

It  was  in  1853  that  Dickens,  then  editor  of  "  Household 
"Words,"  noticed  among  the  contributions  with  which  his 
office  table  was  littered,  a  short  poem  which  he  considered 
unusually  good.  It  professed  to  be  the  work  of  a  Miss 
Mary  Berwick,  a  name  quite  unknown  to  him,  who  was  to 
be  addressed  through  a  London  circulating  library.  Ho 
wrote  to  her  immediately,  accepting  the  poem  and  request- 
ing her  to  contribute  another.  She  did  so,  and  became 
a  writer  for  the  periodical. 

Miss  Berwick  was  none  other  than  Miss  Procter,  whom 
Dickens  had  known  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  whose 
father  was  one  of  his  oldest  and  dearest  friends.     She  had 


ADELAIDE   PROCTER.  215 

chosen  to  correspond  with  him  under  an  assumed  name, 
because  she  feared,  had  she  used  her  own,  and  her 
poem  not  been  such  as  he  desired,  that  he  would  either 
have  accepted  it  for  friendship's  sake,  or  have  found  it 
very  painful  to  refuse.  It  was  more  than  a  year  before 
the  facts  became  known  to  him.  Then,  during  the  month 
of  December,  when  going  to  dine  with  Barry  Cornwall,  he 
carried  with  him  an  early  proof  of  the  Christmas  number  of 
Household  Words,  entitled  "  The  Seven  Poor  Travelers." 
As  he  laid  it  down  upon  the  parlor  table  before  the  assem- 
bled family,  he  remarked  that  it  contained  an  exceedingly 
pretty  poem  by  a  certain  Miss  Mary  Berwick.  The  next 
day  lie  was  informed  that  Miss  Berwick  and  Miss  Procter 
were  one,  and  shortly  afterward  she  had  the  happiness  of 
receiving  the  following  delightful  letter  from  her  editor : 

"My  dear  Miss  Procter,  you  have  given  me  a  new 
sensation.  I  did  suppose  that  nothing  in  this  singular 
world  could  surprise  me,  but  you  have  done  it. 

"  You  will  believe  my  congratulations  on  the  delicacy 
and  talent  of  your  writing  to  be  sincere.  From  the 
first,  I  have  always  had  an  especial  interest  in  that 
Miss  Berwick,  and  have  over  and  over  again  questioned 
Wills  about  her.  I  suppose  he  has  gone  on  gradually 
building  up  an  imaginary  structure  of  life  and  adventure 
for  her,  but  he  has  given  me  the  strangest  information  ! 
Only  yesterday  week,  when  wo  were  'making  up'  'The 
Poor  Travelers,'  I  said  to  him,  '  Wills,  have  you  got  that 
Miss  Berwick's  proof  back,  of  the  little  sailor's  song?' 
'No,'  he  said.  'Well,  but  why  not?'  I  asked  him. 
1  Why,  you  know,'  he  answered,  '  as  I  have  often  told  you 
Iiefore,  she  don't  live  at  the  place  to  which  her  letters 
are  addressed,  and  so  there's  always  difficulty  and  delay 
in  communicating  with  her.'  '  Do  you  know  what  age 
she  is  ?'  I  said.  Here  he  looked  unfathomably  profound, 
and  returned,  '  Rather  advanced  in  life.'     '  You  said  she 


216  ADELAIDE   PROCTER. 

was  a  governess,  didn't  you  ? '  said  I ;  to  which  he  replied 
in  the  most  emphatic  and  positive  manner,  '  A  governess.' 

"  He  then  came  and  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  delivered  himself  like  an 
oracle  concerning  you.  He  told  me  that  early  in  life 
(conveying  to  me  the  impression  of  about  a  century  ago) 
you  had  had  your  feelings  desperately  wounded  by  some 
cause,  real  or  imaginary — '  It  does  not  matter  which,' 
said  I  with  the  greatest  sagacity — and  that  you  had  then 
taken  to  writing  verses.  That  you  were  of  an  unhappy 
temperament,  but  keenly  sensitive  to  encouragement. 
That  you  wrote  after  the  educational  duties  of  the  day 
were  discharged.  That  you  sometimes  thought  of  never 
writing  any  more.  That  you  had  been  away  for  some 
time  '  with  your  pupils.'  That  your  letters  were  of  a 
mild  and  melancholy  character,  and  that  you  did  not 
seem  to  care  as  much  as  might  be  expected  about  money. 
All  this  time  I  sat  poking  the  fire,  with  a  wisdom  upon 
me  absolutely  crushing  ;  and  finally  I  begged  him  to 
assure  the  lady  that  she  might  trust  me  with  her  real 
address,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to  have  it  now,  as  I 
hoped  our  further  communications,  etc.  You  must  have 
felt  enormously  wicked  last  Tuesday,  when  I,  such  a  babe 
in  the  wood,  was  unconsciously  prattling  to  you.  But 
you  have  given  me  so  much  pleasure,  and  have  made  me 
shed  so  many  tears,  that  I  can  only  think  of  you  now  in 
association  with  the  sentiment  and  grace  of  your  verses. 

"  So  pray  accept  the  blessing  and  forgiveness  of  Richard 
Watts,  though  I  am  afraid  you  come  under  both  his  con- 
ditions of  exclusion.  Very  faithfully  yours,  Charles 
Dickens." 

The  allusion  in  the  last  paragraph  is  to  the  house  at 
Rochester  known  as  "  Watts'  Charity,"  the  inscription 
upon  which  states  that  it  will  furnish  a  night's  lodging 
to  six  poor  travelers,  "  not  being  Rogues  or  Proctors." 


ADELAIDE    PROCTER.  217 

The  volume  of  Legends  and  Lyrics,  Miss  Procters 
second  book,  is  much  better  than  her  first,  and  contains 
many  of  her  finest  poems,  including-  such  favorites  as  "  The 
Angel's  Story,"  "  True  Honors,"  "  A  Tomb  in  Ghent," 
etc.  American  readers  may  note  with  interest  that  the 
motto  placed  beneath  her  dedication  to  a  friend  is  from 
Emerson.  The  second  scries  which  followed  under  the 
same  title  opened  with  the  "  Legend  of  Provence,"  one  of 
the  loveliest  of  Italian  traditions  clothed  in  exquisite 
verse,  and  contained  other  poems  briefer  but  not  less 
beautiful.     It  was  her  last  book. 

Adelaide  Procter  died  of  overwork — not  literary  work, 
for  all  her  poems  together  make  a  volume  of  but  moderate 
size,  but  of  the  ceaseless  labors  which  she  undertook  in 
the  cause  of  charity.  She  visited  the  sick ;  she  taught 
the  ignorant ;  she  aided  the  widening  of  woman's  sphere 
of  exertion,  working  for  each  object,  as  Dickens  says, 
"  with  a  flushed  earnestness  that  disregarded  season, 
weather,  time  of  clay  or  night,  food,  rest."  Even  when 
her  failing  health  warned  her  to  stop,  she  could  not.  It 
was  in  her  nature  to  go  on  and  on  until  she  could  go  no 
more.  So  long  as  she  was  able  to  move  about,  she  went 
on  with  the  task  she  had  set  herself,  and  only  when  at 
last  she  was  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed,  did  her  restless- 
ness disappear.  Then,  indeed,  she  resigned  herself  to 
her  fate  with  a  patience  touching  to  witness ;  and  during 
the  fifteen  months  of  her  illness  never  spoke  a  single 
impatient  or  complaining  word.  Some  who  have  read 
her  poems  have  thought  of  her  as  a  person  always  pensive 
and  serious  ;  but  indeed  she  was  possessed  of  a  lively 
sense  of  humor,  and  had  a  peculiarly  pleasant,  ringmg 
laugh.  Tin's  cheerfulness  remained  with  her  to  the  end. 
She  died  on  the  third  of  February,  1864,  very  early  in 
the  morning.  Her  last  words,  uttered  with  a  bright 
smile,  were  : 

"  It  has  come  at  last !" 


218  ADELAIDE   PROCTER. 

Adelaide  Procter's  poems  are  remarkable  for  their 
simplicity  and  directness  of  style.  Many  of  them  are 
songs — real  songs,  whose  full  beauty  can  not  be  appre- 
ciated until  we  hear  them  sung.  Those  who  have  heard 
"  Cleansing  Fires  "  or  "  The  Lost  Chord  "  fitly  rendered 
will  appreciate  this  truth. 

THE  LOST  CHORD. 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ, 

I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease, 
And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 

Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  knew  not  what  I  was  playing, 

Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then; 
But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music 

Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen. 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight 

Like  the  close  of  an  angel's  Psalm; 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow 

Like  love  overcoming  strife; 
It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 

From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silence 

As  if  it  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine 
That  came  from  the  soul  of  the  organ, 

And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death's  bright  angel 

"Will  speak  in  that  chord  again, 
It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven 

I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen. 


XVI. 

LADY  BLOOMFIELD. 

THIS  lady  was  maid-of-lionor  to  Queen  Victoria  for 
some  years.  The  queen,  it  appears,  has  in  her  ser- 
vice eight  young  ladies  thus  entitled,  who  are  in  attend- 
ance in  the  palace  three  months  of  every  year,  so  that 
there  are  always  two  "  in  waiting."  The  compensation 
of  these  honorable  maidens  is  four  hundred  pounds  a  year 
each,  or  two  thousand  dollars.  It  costs,  therefore,  sixteen 
thousand  dollars  a  year  to  provide  the  Queen  with  this 
portion  of  her  "  court,"  without  reckoning  the  expense  of 
their  maintenance. 

As  for  the  duties  of  the  position,  they  are  not  very 
arduous.  The  business  of  a  maid-of-honor  is  to  make 
herself  agreeable  to  the  royal  family  when  more  important 
guests  are  not  present,  and  to  assist  in  entertaining  per- 
sonages of  distinction.  The  queen  has  her  breakfast  at 
ten  o'clock,  her  lunch  at  tAvo,  her  ride  in  the  afternoon, 
her  dinner  at  eight,  and  goes  to  bed  about  midnight.  The 
maids-of-honor  usually  attend  on  these  occasions,  ride 
with  her,  play  whist  with  her,  and  join  in  whatever  game 
happens  to  be  the  favorite  at  the  moment.  According  to 
Lady  Bloomfield,  who  has  written  a  book  about  her  life  at 
courts,  there  is  only  one  regular  task  imposed  upon  the 
maids. 

"  Our  chief  duty,"  she  says,  "  seems  to  consist  in  giving 
the  queen  her  bouquet  before  dinner,  which  is  certainly 
not  very  hard  work !     And  even  this  only  happens  every 

(219) 


220  LADY   BLOOMFIELD. 

other  day.     I  am  left  entirely  to  myself,  and  can  employ 
my  time  as  I  like." 

But  this  was  far  from  being  the  opinion  of  Lady 
Ravcnsworth,  the  mother  of  the  young  lady.  When  her 
daughter  received  her  appointment  as  maid-of-honor,  she 
wrote  her  a  long  and  very  affectionate  letter  of  advice ; 
and  if  any  reader  should  ever  be  appointed  maid-of-honor 
to  a  queen,  she  could  not  do  better  than  to  study  this 
remarkable  epistle.  She  tells  her  daughter  that  her  chief 
duty  should  be  to  please  the  queen ;  not  by  base  flattery 
or  servile  cringing,  but  by  the  most  assiduous  attention  to 
her  desires,  even  in  the  merest  trifles,  and  by  the  most 
exact  and  cheerful  obedience  to  every  command. 

"  You  must  accustom  yourself,"  her  mother  wrote,  "  to 
sit  or  stand  for  hours  without  any  amusement  save  the 
resources  of  your  own  thoughts,  and  your  natural  good 
sense  will  show  you  that  the  least  rudeness  of  manner  or 
appearance  of  fatigue  is  incompatible  with  high  breeding 
and  the  respect  due  to  the  sovereign." 

She  enjoins  it  upon  her  daughter  also  to  keep  whatever 
she  saw,  or  heard,  or  thought  entirely  to  herself,  to  avoid 
"  all  idle  gossip  about  dress,  balls,  and  lovers,"  to  avoid 
showy  and  expensive  dress,  to  beware  of  the  least  appear- 
ance of  flirtation  with  any  of  the  gentlemen  about  the 
court,  to  be  invariably  considerate  of  her  servants,  to  pur- 
sue her  studies  with  regularity,  and  practice  her  music 
and  drawing,  just  "  as  she  would  at  home."  She  advises 
her  to  spend  half  her  salary  in  clothes,  a  quarter  in 
charity  and  journeys,  and  to  save  the  other  hundred  to  be 
invested  at  three  per  cent.,  "  as  a  little  nest  egg  for  any 
future  emergenc}'." 

This  letter  gives  an  interesting  insight  into  many 
things.  It  is  a  curious  mixture  of  fervent  piety  and 
worldly  wisdom. 

"  To  your  companions,"  says  this  mother  of  two  maids- 


LADY  BLOOMFIELD.  221 

of-honor,  "  be  as  kind,  as  obliging,  and  as  agreeable  as 
possible,  but  have  no  confidence  in  any  one,  and  avoid 
intimacies" 

The  lady  who  wrote  this  prudent  letter  was  the  mother 
of  several  daughters,  and  the  reader  will  not  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  they  made  great  matches,  and  enjoyed  a 
good  share  of  the  good  things  that  were  going  in  England 
in  their  day. 

Fortified  with  this  letter  of  advice  the  young  maid-of- 
honor  entered  upon  her  duties  with  some  confidence  and 
more  trepidation.  She  arrived  at  Windsor  Castle  late  in 
the  afternoon  of  January  20,  18-12,  and  was  happy  to  find 
that  she  was  to  have  a  nice  warm  parlor  and  bedroom, 
with  a  piano,  as  well  as  a  share  of  a  large  drawing-room 
down  stairs,  in  which  to  receive  her  friends.  A  lady  of 
the  court  came  to  her  bringing  her  the  badge  of  her 
office,  which  was  the  miniature  of  the  queen  surrounded 
by  diamonds  and  placed  upon  a  bow  of  red  ribbon. 

When  the  dinner  hour  approached,  she  took  her  place 
with  her  comrades  near  the  door  of  the  queen's  room,  and 
waited  for  her  coming.  When  the  queen  appeared,  who 
was  then  little  more  than  twenty  years  of  age,  the  lady-in- 
waiting  presented  the  new  maid-of-honor,  who  thanked  the 
queen  for  her  appointment,  and  kissed  her  hand,  as  all 
persons  do  on  their  appointment  to  similar  posts.  The 
queen  asked  concerning  her  family,  after  which  they  all 
went  into  dinner,  the  queen  continuing  to  talk  to  her  new 
maid  about  her  journey,  and  her  friends. 

After  dinner,  as  the  family  was  alone,  the  queen.  Prince 
Albert  and  some  of  the  ladies  sat  down  at  a  round  game 
of  cards,  playing  for  very  small  stakes.  The  stakes  were 
indeed  so  small  that  our  maid-of-honor,  after  playing  a 
long  time,  would  find  herself  the  winner  of  three  or  four 
pence.  The  whole  court  were  obliged  to  keep  on  hand  a 
supply  of    new  coins,  such  as  shillings,  sixpences,  and 

14 


222  LADY   BLOOMFIELD. 

penny  pieces,  since  it  is  a  breach  of  etiquette  to  play  at 
court  with  old  money.  All  the  evenings  passed  very 
much  as  they  do  with  any  civilized  family,  in  singing, 
cards,  games,  conversation,  and  telling  stories. 

The  most  remarkable  thing  is  that  there  was  nothing 
remarkable  about  it.  The  evenings  were  passed  in  the 
most  ordinary,  simple,  and  agreeable  manner. 

The  Queen,  it  appears,  sang  really  well,  played  well, 
danced  with  girlish  hilarity,  and  liked  both  to  hear  and 
to  tell  a  funny  thing.  One  of  the  Queen's  stories  was  of 
a  girl  who  was  going  into  service  to  a  Duke,  and  her 
mother  told  her  that,  if  ever  the  Duke  spoke  to  her,  she 
must  say  "Your  Grace."  A  few  days  after,  the  Duke 
met  her  in  a  passage,  and  asked  her  a  question.  Instead 
of  answering,  the  girl  immediately  obeyed  her  mother's 
direction,  and  said  her  grace  :  "For  what  I  have  received 
the  Lord  make  me  truly  thankful." 

Indeed,  they  all  seem  to  have  been  very  glad  to  relieve 
the  tedium  of  court  life  by  a  little  boisterous  fun.  Some- 
times the  young  Queen  would  send  one  of  the  young 
ladies  to  the  piano,  and  then  catch  another  round  the 
waist  and  go  whirling  about  the  room  in  a  waltz.  Even 
so  grave  a  personage  as  Sir  Robert  Peel  appears  in  Lady 
Bloomfield's  book  as  a  teller  of  comic  anecdotes.  He 
told  one  of  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  first  visit  of  the  youthful  Queen  to  the  city.  As  the 
Mayor  was  obliged  to  appear  in  a  court  dress,  and 
wished  to  keep  his  stockings  and  low  shoes  perfectly 
clean  until  the  Queen  arrived,  he  put  on  over  them  a 
pair  of  enormous  high  boots.  These  boots  proved  to  be 
so  very  tight,  that  when  the  Queen  approached  lie  could 
not  get  them  off,  and  there  he  stood,  in  the  presence  of  a 
crowd  of  grand  personages,  with  one  leg  stuck  out,  and 
several   men  tugging  at  the  boot,  trying  to  get  it  off. 


LADY  BLOOMFIELD.  223 

After  immense  exertions,  one  of  the  boots  was  got  off, 
but  no  amount  of  force  could  stir  the  other,  and,  mean- 
while, the  Queen  was  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  The 
Lord  Mayor  was  in  an  agony  of  fright,  with  one  boot  off 
and  the  other  on,  until  at  last  he  was  almost  beside  him- 
self, and  shouted : 

"  For  heaven's  sake  put  my  boot  on  again  !  " 

This  was  done  just  as  the  Queen  came  up,  and  the  poor 
man  was  obliged  to  wear  the  tight  boots  in  torment  all 
through  the  long  banquet  before  he  could  divest  himself 
of  his  incongruous  and  agonizing  terminations. 

People  in  England  are  fond  of  relating  such  anecdotes 
of  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  of  London.  Sir  Robert  Peel 
told  another  story  to  the  ladies  of  the  court  of  a  Lord 
Mayor's  dinner,  when  Mr.  Canning  sat  opposite  Alder- 
man Flower,  a  man  of  great  note  in  the  city.  The 
Alderman  said  to  Canning: 

"Mr.  Canning,  my  Lord  Ellenborough  was  a  man  of 
uncommon  sagacity." 

The  great  orator  bowed  assent,  and  asked  the  Alder 
man  why  he  happened  to  make  the  remark  just  then. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  Flower,  "had  he  been  here,  he  would 
have  told  me  by  a  single  glance  of  his  eye  which  is  the 
best  of  those  live  haunches  of  venison." 

Soon  after,  Lord  Ellenborough  himself  came  to  court, 
and  he  told  the  ladies  a  comic  tale  of  another  Lord 
Mayor's  dinner.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  being  called 
upon  to  propose  the  health  of  the  Lady  Mayoress,  who 
happened  to  be  a  little,  dried-up  old  woman,  he  spoke  of 
her  as  "  the  model  of  her  sex."  After  dinner,  Ellen- 
borough asked  the  Iron  Duke  how  he  could  call  that  ugly 
little  thing  the  model  of  her  sex. 

"What  could  I  call  her?"  said  the  Duke;  "I  had 
neve/'  seen  her  before." 

Our  maid-of-honor  held  her  office  for  about  three  years, 


224  LADY   BLOOMFIELD. 

accompanying  the  Queen  on  her  journeys,  and  associating 
with  the  dignitaries  of  the  kingdom.  Then  happened 
the  great  event  of  her  life.  Perhaps  the  reader  would 
like  to  sec  the  brief  and  matter-of-fact  way  in  which  an 
English  maid-of-honor  can  relate  the  romance  of  her 
existence. 

"  I  found  my  father  talking  to  a  gentleman,  and  when 
I  entered  he  said  to  me,  '  Georgie,  don't  you  recollect  Mr. 
Bloomfield  ? '  My  father  was  anxious  to  finish  some 
letters,  and  desired  me  to  show  Mr.  Bloomfield  the 
garden.  So  we  took  a  walk  together,  and  from  that 
moment  his  intentions  were  very  evident,  as  he  took 
every  opportunity  of  meeting  me  and  showing  me  atten- 
tions.    Our  marriage  was  settled  on  July  26th." 

This  gentleman,  the  English  Minister  at  the  Russian 
court,  was  at  home  on  leave  of  absence,  and  took  this 
direct  and  simple  mode  of  getting  a  wife  to  go  back  with 
him.  He  soon  became,  by  death  of  his  father,  Lord 
Bloomfield.  They  passed  many  succeeding  years  in  Rus- 
sia, Prussia,  and  Austria,  as  the  representatives  of  the 
majesty  of  England. 

Upon  reading  Lady  Bloom  field's  reminiscences,  which 
have  been  recently  published,  we  cannot  help  thinking 
again  of  the  remark  of  the  old  statesman  to  his  son : 

"Dost  thou  not  know,  my  son,  with  how  little  wisdom 
the  world  is  governed  ?  " 

Prince  Albert  and  Queen  Victoria  are  presented  in 
these  volumes  in  an  amiable  and  attractive  light ;  but 
the  persons  who  controlled  the  governments  on  the  con- 
tinent  of  Europe  appear  to  have  been  singularly  unfitted 
by  temperament,  by  disposition,  and  mental  quality,  to  be 
at  the  head  of  nations.  With  the  exception  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  all  of  them  seem  to  have  meant  well ;  but 
wdicn  the  happiness  and  security  of  millions  of  human 
beings  arc  at  stake,  good  intentions  are  not  enough. 


XVII. 

THE  MOTHER  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

WHAT  poet  was  ever  more  fortunate  in  his  educa- 
tion than  Victor  Hugo,  whether  we  consider  his 
parents  or  his  environment  ?  His  father  was  General 
Hugo,  a  soldier  first  of  the  Republic,  then  of  the  Empire, 
a  man  of  much  military  capacity,  of  intelligence,  and  of 
humanity.  His  mother,  a  less  brilliant  figure,  was  an 
excellent  woman,  earnestly  devoted  to  the  welfare  of  her 
three  sons,  the  care  of  whom  devolved  chiefly  upon  her. 

It  was  during  the  war  of  La  Vendee  in  1793  that 
Major  Leopold  Hugo,  then  an  ardent  defender  of  the 
Republic,  made  the  acquaintance,  at  Nantes,  of  an  armorer 
named  Tre'buchet,  an  adherent  of  royalty  and  the  church. 
It  is  not  likely  that  the  relations  between  them  were  at 
any  time  very  warm ;  nevertheless,  the  young  Major 
spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  house  of  the  obstinate 
royalist,  and  exercised  his  ingenuity  to  the  utmost  in 
finding  excuses  for  going  to  it,  and,  when  there,  further 
excuses  for  remaining.  Sophie  Tre'buchet,  the  youngest 
child  of  her  father  (who  was  a  widower),  soon  divined 
that  it  was  herself  that  was  the  object  of  these  visits, 
which  she  by  no  means  discouraged.  It  is  true  that  she 
too  was  a  royalist,  quite  decided,  and  much  more  enthusi- 
astic than  her  father ;  but  she  was  also  a  woman.  Hence, 
in  an  officer  as  brave,  as  handsome,  as  well  mannered 
and  above  all  as  attentive  as  Major  Hugo,  she  found  that 
an  error  in  politics  was  not  inexcusable.  They  soon 
came  to  an  understanding,  and  when  at  the  termination 

(225) 


22G  THE   MOTHER    OP   VICTOR   HUGO. 

of  the  war  he  was  obliged  to  set  out  for  Paris,  he  had 
obtained  from  Sophie  Trebuchet  a  promise  to  marry  him, 
and  to  do  all  in  her  power  to  hasten  their  union.  Her 
father  had  first  to  be  won  over,  and  this  was  by  no  means 
an  easy  task.     At  length,  however,  she  succeeded. 

She  was  a  slender,  delicate  little  creature,  with  the 
hands  and  feet  of  a  child,  and  a  face  not  beautiful,  but 
rendered  pleasing  in  spite  of  some  slight  traces  of  small- 
pox by  its  expression  of  good  will,  firmness,  and  intelli- 
gence. Moreover,  she  was  a  person  of  independent  judg- 
ment and  of  much  practical  capacity  ;  she  had  long  been 
her  father's  housekeeper  and  adviser,  as  well  as  his 
devoted  daughter,  and  now  that  she  had  set  her  heart 
upon  a  marriage  of  which  he  did  not  approve,  but  against 
which  there  were  none  but  political  reasons,  the  old  man 
felt  obliged  to  let  her  have  her  way.  He  consented, 
although  reluctantly  and  with  serious  misgivings  as  to 
her  future  happiness. 

Meanwhile  Major  Hugo  was  in  Paris,  where  he  had 
formed  an  intimacy  with  a  young  man  named  Pierre 
Foucher,  a  native  of  Nantes,  who  had  known  the  Tre'buchet 
family.  Beside  this  strong  bond  between  them  there  was 
another :  Foucher  was  also  in  love,  and  about  to  marry. 
They  lodged  in  the  same  building,  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and 
spent  their  leisure  hours  together,  occasionally  discussing 
politics,  in  which  they  were  opposed,  and  much  oftener 
their  love  affairs,  in  which  they  were  of  the  same  opinion: 
namely,  that  when  a  young  couple  were  once  engaged, 
the  sooner  they  were  married  the  better. 

Major  Hugo's  wedding  was  the  first  to  take  place.  -4s 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  leave  his  post  and  go  to 
Nantes,  his  bride  came  to  Paris,  accompanied  by  her 
father. 

The  marriage  was  celebrated  according  to  the  civil 
form,  and  the  happy  pair  therefore  were  not  even  obliged 


THE   MOTHER   OP  VICTOR   HUGO.  229 

to  leave  the  building.  Within  the  walls  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  the  ceremony  was  performed,  and  within  its  walls 
they  began  their  married  life.  Pierre  Foucher  soon 
followed  their  example,  and  he  and  his  wife  established 
themselves  beneath  the  same  roof.  At  the  marriage 
dinner  of  his  friend,  Major  Hugo,  who  was  in  buoyant 
spirits,  cried  out  gayly,  as  he  filled  a  glass : 

"  Have  a  daughter ;  I  will  have  a  son ;  and  they  shall 
marry  each  other.  I  drink  to  the  health  of  their  house- 
hold!" 

This  merry  wish  was  fulfilled.  Victor  Hugo  married 
Adele  Foucher,  and  it  was  she  who  preserved  the  anecdote. 

Within  a  year  of  her  wedding,  Madame  Hugo  gave 
birth  to  a  son  who  was  christened  Abel ;  a  year  later  she 
gave  Abel  a  brother,  named  Eugene.  In  1802,  while 
living  in  the  interesting  old  city  of  Besanc,on,  where  her 
husband  and  his  brigade  were  then  stationed,  she 
anxiously  awaited  the  arrival  of  a  third  child,  which 
both  parents,  satisfied  with  the  two  boys  they  already 
had,  earnestly  desired  might  be  a  girl.  Colonel  Hugo 
had  already  found  a  suitable  godmother  for  the  infant  in 
Madame  Delelee,  the  wife  of  a  young  aide-de-camp  of  his 
acquaintance.  The  godfather  remained  to  be  selected,  and 
it  was  at  length  decided  to  invite  General  Lahorie,  his 
old  and  dear  friend,  to  accept  the  office.  Madame  Hugo 
therefore  wrote  to  him,  conveying  the  request. 

"  Citizen  General,"  the  letter  runs,  "  you  have  always 
shown  so  much  kindness  to  Hugo,  bestowed  so  many 
caresses  upon  my  children,  that  I  have  much  regretted 
that  you  could  not  have  given  your  name  to  the  last.  On 
the  eve  of  being  the  mother  of  a  third  child,  it  would  be 
very  agreeable  to  me  that  you  should  be  the  godfather  of 
the  one  that  is  coming.  ...  In  case  we  shall  be  deprived 
of  the  pleasure  of  having  you,  the  citizen  Delete,  our 
common  friend,  would    doubtless  have  the  kindness  to 


230  THE   MOTHER  OP   VICTOR   HUGO. 

represent  you  and  to  give  to  the  child  a  name  that  you 
have  not  belied  and  that  you  have  so  well  illustrated : 
Victor  or  Vietorine  will  be  the  name  of  the  child  that  we 
expect.  .  .  Have  the  goodness  to  receive,  citizen  General, 
the  assurance  of  our  sincere  attachment.     Femme  Hugo.'' 

On  the  26th  of  February,  1802,  the  child  was  born  — 
a  poor,  weak,  ugly  little  creature,  "  no  longer  than  a 
knife,"  his  mother  said.  The  doctor  declared  that  he 
would  not  live,  but  Madame  Hugo  was  determined  that 
he  should,  and  her  devoted  care  saved  him.  He  was 
christened  at  Besanqon,  receiving  the  name  of  Victor- 
Marie,  in  honor  of  his  godfather  and  godmother.  In 
six  weeks  he  was  able  to  bear  the  journey  thence  to 
Marseilles.  The  family  remained  unbroken  until  the 
year  1802,  although  moving  continually  from  place  to 
place.  But  in  that  year  Colonel  Hugo  was  ordered  to 
join  the  army  in  Italy,  and  as  it  was  manifestly  impossible 
for  his  wife  to  follow  him  at  such  time  with  three  young 
children,  he  sent  them  to  Paris.  In  Italy,  however, 
Colonel  Hugo  so  distinguished  himself  by  the  capture  of 
Fra  Diavolo  and  other  exploits  that  he  was  appointed  by 
Joseph  Bonaparte,  then  King  of  Naples,  Governor  of 
Avellino. 

No  sooner  was  he  established  in  this  province,  the 
war  ended  and  the  country  quiet,  than  he  sent  for  his 
wife  and  children  to  rejoin  him.  This  was  in  1807, 
Victor  being  five  years  old.  He  remembers  well  many 
Incidents  of  the  route,  especially  his  fear  that  the  stage- 
coach would  upset  upon  the  steep  mountain  roads,  and  an 
extraordinary  luncheon  which  they  enjoyed  in  the  Apen- 
nines, when,  having  become  hungry  before  reaching  a 
tavern,  they  entered  a  goatherd's  hut  in  search  of  food. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  hut  but  an  eagle  that  the  herds- 
man had  just  killed,  and  the  drumsticks  of  this  majestic 
bird,  roasted  over  an  open  fire,  served  to  appease  the 
appetites  of  the  three  little  Hugos.     To   their   mother, 


THE   MOTHER   OF   VICTOR    HUGO.  231 

however,  for  whom  such  adventures  had  no  charm,  and 
who  detested  traveling,  the  whole  journey  was  one  long 
fret  about  uncertain  lodgings  and  all  too  certain  fleas. 
She  reached  Avellino  in  safety  with  her  charges,  but  she 
did  not  long  enjoy  her  husband's  company  there,  nor  the 
quiet  of  the  ancient  castle  where  they  dwelt. 

Joseph,  King  of  Naples,  became  Joseph,  King  of  Spain. 

He  sent  a  letter  to  the  newly  established  Governor  of 
Avellino  requesting  him  to  come  to  Spain  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  governor  obeyed  the  summons,  and  his 
wife  and  children  returned  to  France.  Arrived  at  Paris, 
Madame  Hugo  promptly  set  out  to  discover  a  suitable 
dwelling  —  no  easy  matter,  since  she  knew  exactly  what 
she  wanted,  and  would  be  satisfied  with  nothing  else ;  and 
above  all,  she  had  determined  upon  a  garden,  as  an 
absolute  necessity.  For  the  grand  scenery  of  the  moun- 
tains, for  broad  plains  and  fertile  valleys,  she  cared  little ; 
but  a  garden  of  her  own,  a  place  upon  which  she  could 
expend  her  labor,  taste,  and  affection,  and  be  rewarded 
by  flowers  and  shrubs  flourishing  under  her  daily  care  — 
that  was  dear  to  her  gentle  French  heart.  She  was  long 
in  finding  such  a  house  as  she  desired.  One  day  she 
came  back  to  the  children  radiant,  and  told  them  that 
she  had  at  last  discovered  her  very  ideal.  It  was  Number 
12,  Rue  des  Feuillantines,  a  spot  since  made  famous  by 
the  poems  of  her  illustrious  son.  Its  large  garden,  almost 
a  little  park,  extended  "beyond  it  to  a  partially  ruined 
convent.  Within  its  limits  were  flowers  in  profusion, 
an  abundance  of  fruit,  a  long  avenue  bordered  with  great 
chestnut  trees,  and,  better  than  all,  many  nooks  and 
corners  neglected  for  years,  and  so  overgrown  with 
tangled  vines  and  bushes  as  to  seem  to  the  children  like 
a  virgin  forest. 

With  this  place  so  beautiful  and  sequestered  Madame 
Hugo  was  content,  while  the  boys  asked  nothing  better 


232  THE    MOTHER    OF    VICTOR    HUGO. 

than  to  play  in  it  the  livelong  day  games  of  war,  explor- 
ing expeditions,  and  exciting  searches  for  mythical 
beasts.  Lessons,  however,  had  to  be  learned,  and  the 
garden  paradise  could  only  be  enjoyed  in  leisure  hours. 
Victor's  instructor  was  a  benevolent  old  priest  who  after 
the  Revolution  had  married,  and  who  with  his  wife  kept 
a  little   school. 

In  the  beautiful  poem  entitled  Ce  Qui  Se  Passait  aux 
Feuillantines  Vers  1813,  Victor  Hugo  describes  this 
happy  period.  Even  when  rendered  into  English  prose 
the  lovely  verses  do  not  lose  all  their  charm. 

"In  my  fair  childhood  —  alas!  too  brief  —  I  had  three 
masters  —  a  garden,  an  old  priest,  and  my  mother.  The 
garden  was  large,  deep,  mysterious,  shut  in  by  high 
walls  from  curious  glances,  rilled  Avith  flowers  opening 
like  eyes,  and  with  bright  insects  that  ran  along  the 
stones;  full  of  hummings  and  confused  voices;  in  the 
centre,  almost  a  field ;  at  the  far  end,  almost  a  wood. 
The  priest,  nurtured  upon  Tacitus  and  Homer,  was  a 
gentle  old  man.     My  mother  —  was  my  mother." 

Soon  to  this  mysterious  garden,  one  more  element  of 
mystery  was  added.  One  day,  in  1809,  Victor  and 
Eugene  were  summoned  into  the  parlor,  where  they 
found  in  company  with  their  mother  a  tall,  black  haired 
man  with  a  kindly  face.  He  Avas  a  relative,  Madame 
Hugo  told  them.  He  dined  with  them  that  day  and 
returned  the  next,  to  the  joy  of  the  children,  with  whom 
he  had  at  once  made  friends.  He  soon  became  a  member 
of  the  family,  and  was  especially  attached  to  Victor, 
although  he  was  fond  of  all  the  boys  and  would  join  in 
their  games,  tell  them  stories,  and  help  them  with  their 
lessons.  But  they  thought  it  strange  that  instead  of 
sleeping  in  the  house  he  passed  his  nights  in  a  corner  of 
the  convent  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  long  used  as  a  tool 
house,  and  also  that  he  never  passed  the  limits  of  the 


THE   MOTHER   OF  VICTOR   HUGO.  233 

garden  in  his  walks,  nor  saw  any  of  the  visitors  who  came 
to  the  house.  Moreover,  they  did  not  even  know  his 
name :  he  was  called  simply  General.  He  was,  in  fact, 
General  Lahorie,  Victor's  godfather,  who  after  the  affair 
of  General  Morean,  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  had  been 
condemned  to  death  by  Bonaparte.  He  had  been  driven 
from  place  to  place,  hiding  first  with  one  friend  and  then 
with  another,  until  Madame  Hugo,  always  faithful  to  her 
friends,  and  a  hater  of  Napoleon  besides,  offered  him  a 
refuge.  He  remained  with  her  in  safety  for  a  year  and  a 
half.     He  was  then  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison. 

A  year  later,  after  their  return  from  Spain,  Madame 
Hugo  was  walking  along  the  street  with  Victor,  when  she 
observed  a  large  white  placard  pasted  against  the  column 
of  a  church.  Grasping  his  hand  more  firmly,  she  pointed 
to  it  and  said  simply  : 

"  Read  " 

He  read  this : 

"French  Empire. — By  sentence  of  the  First  Council 
of  War,  for  the  crime  of  conspiracy  against  the  Empire 
and  the  Emperor,  the  three  ex-Generals,  Malet,  Guidal, 
and  Lahorie,  have  been  shot  upon  the  plain  of  Grenelle." 

It  was  thus  that  Victor  Hugo  first  learned  his  god- 
fathers name. 

We  now  arrive  at  the  famous  journey  of  Madame  Hugo 
and  her  boys  to  Spain,  so  fruitful  of  results  to  the  future 
poet  and  dramatist.  It  was  a  far  greater  event  to  them 
all  than  the  journey  to  Italy  had  been,  and  it  was  even  a 
greater  trial  to  the  home-loving  mother.  General  Hugo, 
now  Count  Hugo,  and  Governor  of  two  provinces,  had 
sent  for  them  to  join  him  at  Madrid,  and  in  1811,  shortly 
after  the  arrest  of  Lahorie,  they  set  out  from  Paris.  It 
took  nine  days  to  cross  France  and  reach  Bayonne.  At 
this  city,  where  they  remained  several  days,  Madame 
Hugo  purchased  an  immense  old-fashioned  carriage,  the 


234  THE   MOTHER   OP   VICTOR   HUGO. 

only  vehicle  she  could  obtain,  in  which  they  traveled  the 
rest  of  the  way. 

Although  Joseph  was  called  King  of  Spain,  he  was 
master  only  of  Madrid  and  the  places  actually  occupied 
by  the  French  army.  All  traveling  was  consequently 
difficult  and  somewhat  dangerous,  and  to  travel  alone  was 
impossible.  Madame  Hugo  and  her  sons  therefore  joined 
at  I  run  an  armed  convoy  that  was  going  to  the  Spanish 
capital.  This  escort  consisted  of  fifteen  hundred  infantry, 
five  hundred  horse,  and  four  pieces  of  artillery.  The 
first  difficulty  occurred  before  starting.  The  best  place 
in  the  line  of  inarch,  because  the  most  thoroughly  pro- 
tected, was  that  nearest  to  the  treasure  which  the  ,train 
conveyed.  Countess  Hugo,  as  the  wife  of  the  Governor 
of  two  provinces,  claimed  this  position,  which  was  dis- 
puted by  another  lady,  the  Duchess  of  Villa-Hermosa, 
who  could  not  think  of  allowing  a  French  lady,  and  one 
of  inferior  rank,  to  take  precedence  of  her.  The  matter 
was  finally  settled  by  a  reference  to  the  Duke  of  Cotadilla, 
the  commander  of  the  expedition,  who  with  true  Spanish 
politeness  awarded  the  place  of  honor  to  the  stranger. 
Madame  Hugo  gave  the  word ;  the  big  carriage  drawn  by 
six  sturdy  mules  took  its  place  next  the  treasure ;  and 
then  amid  much  cracking  of  whips  and  shouting  of 
drivers,  the  long  procession  started  upon  its  way. 

Poor  Madame  Hugo !  Her  miseries  began  at  once.  In 
Spain,  from  the  time  of  Caesar,  wagon  wheels  were  not 
made  with  spokes,  but  each  consisted  of  a  solid  circle  of 
wood  that  squeaked  fearfully  at  every  revolution ;  and  to 
this  ear-splitting  music  the  cortege  advanced.  The  first 
halt  was  at  Ernani,  a  city  which  she  found  grim  and 
melancholy,  though  Victor  was  so  impressed  by  it  that  he 
gave  its  name  to  one  of  his  most  noted  plays.  In  every 
city  which  had  not  been  destroyed  by  the  war,  the  inhabit- 
ants  were    obliged   to  furnish   the    convoy   with   food, 


THE   MOTHER   OF   VICTOR   HUGO.  235 

lodging,  and  provisions  enough  to  last  until  the  next 
stage  of  the  journey.  The  amount  provided  depended 
upon  the  rank  of  the  recipient.  Madame  Hugo  was  over- 
come the  first  time  to  find  herself,  as  representative  of 
her  husband,  presented  with  a  quarter  of  an  ox,  a  whole 
sheep,  eighty  pounds  of  bread,  and  a  barrel  of  brandy. 
Four  rations  were  due  to  him :  one  as  General,  one 
as  Governor,  one  as  Inspector,  and  one  as  Major-Domo  of 
the  palace.  What  was  she  to  do  with  all  this  ?  She  soon 
found  out.  The  soldiers,  blessed  with  hearty  appetites, 
had  often  eaten  all  their  rations  while  still  a  day's  march 
from  the  next  stage,  and  she  bestowed  her  superfluous 
provisions  upon  them. 

Her  generosity  was  well  rewarded.  Not  long  after, 
while  descendiug  from  the  castle  of  Mondragon,  which  is 
perched  upon  a  steep  rock,  her  carriage  was  upset,  and 
the  whole  family  narrowly  missed  losing  their  lives.  The 
descent  was  so  steep  that  those  in  the  vehicle  lost  sight 
of  the  mules  that  were  drawing  them,  and  expected  every 
moment  to  roll  over  the  precipice  beside  the  road.  Soon 
the  mules  began  to  slip ;  two  of  them  slid  over,  drawing 
the  rest,  and  the  carriage,  suspended  by  one  wheel  to  a 
milestone,  hung  above  the  abyss.  The  milestone,  too, 
began  to  yield  under  the  strain.  Just  in  time  the  sol- 
diers came  to  the  rescue,  and,  scrambling  down  the  cliff 
at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  braced  back  the  carriage  with 
their  shoulders,  while  others  hauled  up  the  mules,  and 
afterwards  the  heavy  equipage  itself.  This  incident  did 
not  tend  to  increase  Madame  Hugo's  love  of  travel. 

Next  to  the  roads,  her  worst  grievances  were  the  food, 
the  fleas — more  plentiful  even  than  in  Italy — and  the 
universal  distrust  and  dislike  which  she  encountered 
wherever  she  went.  Her  mere  presence  was  resented  as 
that  of  an  enemy,  a  Frenchwoman,  and  an  invader. 
Arriving  in  a  city  at  night,  she  would  be  directed  to  the 


236  THE   MOTHER   OF   VICTOR   HUGO. 

house  which  was  to  receive  herself  and  her  family,  usually 
a  large,  massive  stone  building  resembling  a  prison. 
Some  one  of  her  suite  would  knock  at  the  door.  No 
answer.  Another  knock — still  silence.  After  twenty 
strokes  of  the  heavy  knocker,  a  blind  would  open  above, 
and  a  servant's  head  be  thrust  out.  Madame  Hugo  would 
explain  her  presence  and  ask  admittance.  The  servant, 
listening  with  set  lips  and  sullen  eyes,  would  make  no 
reply ;  only  when  madamc  had  finished  speaking  she 
would  disappear,  and  presently  return  to  open  the  door, 
still  silent,  and  lead  the  way  to  rooms  furnished  only  with 
the  strictest  necessaries,  no  conveniences  or  ornaments 
being  left  to  please  the  hated  guests.  The  servant  would 
then  leave,  not  to  be  seen  again.  The  owners  of  the 
house,  secluded  in  some  distant  wing,  would  not  be  visible 
at  all ;  nor  until  the  Frenchwoman  and  her  children 
departed,  permit  sight  or  sound  to  betray  the  presence 
of  any  living  being  other  than  themselves  within  the 
walls. 

At  one  house  it  was  even  worse.  The  family  had 
departed,  leaving  their  possessions  at  the  mercy  of  the 
new-comers  ;  but  before  going  they  had  found  a  way  to 
convey  the  opinion  that  the  unwelcome  occupants  were 
robbers.  One  great  empty  hall  lighted  by  a  blazing  pine 
torch  was  left  at  their  disposal ;  upon  every  other  door 
of  the  house,  seals  had  been  placed. 

3  Upon  arriving  at  Madrid  the  children  were  at  first 
much  pleased  with  the  novelty  of  all  around  them,  and 
writh  the  splendor  of  the  palace  in  which  they  lived.  But 
soon  their  parents  decided  that  their  education  must  not 
bo  neglected  in  Spain,  any  more  than  in  France  ;  and  so 
Eugene  and  Victor  were  sent  to  a  Spanish  boarding- 
school,  while  Abel  was  received  as  a  page  at  court. 
The  school  to  which  the  younger  boys  went  was  dreary 
and  forbidding  in  the  extreme.     The  teachers  were  two 


THE    MOTHER    OP    VICTOR    HUGO.  237 

monks,  one  of  whom  was  severe,  the  other  apparently 
good-natured,  but  really  a  keen-eyed  spy  who  reported  to 
his  superior  all  the  little  pranks  or  carelessness  of  the 
boys,  which  he  appeared  not  to  notice  or  disapprove. 
Moreover  the  food  was  insufficient  and  poor,  the  building 
wholly  unwarmed,  and  a  grim  court-yard  surrounded  by 
high  walls  was  the  only  play -ground.  The  pupils  were 
all  young  Spaniards  of  noble  families.  It  is  an  odd 
instance  of  the  strictness  of  Spanish  etiquette  that,  even 
when  engaged  in  romping  games,  they  always  addressed 
each  other  by  their  titles,  never  by  their  names.  It 
would  be : 

"  Throw  the  ball  this  way,  Marquis." 

'•Count,  that  isn't  fair!" 

Eugene  and  Victor  were  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
their  life  at  this  institution,  and  did  not  regret  the  deter- 
mination, forced  on  their  parents  by  the  renewal  of  the 
war,  to  send  them  back  to  Paris.  They  went  back  in 
1812  to  the  beautiful  garden  of  the  Feuillantincs,  where 
they  resumed  their  relations  with  the-  Fouchers,  whose 
daughter  Adele  was  now  a  very  pretty  little  girl.  Their 
lives  flowed  on  tranquilly  until  one  day,  the  20th  of 
March,  the  two  boys  were  awakened  early  in  the  morning 
by  the  thunder  of  cannon.  They  hastened  to  their 
mother  to  inquire  the  meaning  of  this  startling  sound. 
She  told  them  it  was  the  Russians  and  the  Prussians. 
The  allies  were  before  Paris ;  soon,  they  were  in  Paris ; 
and  a  good-natured  Prussian  colonel  was  quartered  at 
Madame  Hugo's  house,  where  he  tried,  with  tolerable 
success,  to  win  the  favor  of  her  sons. 

The  Bourbons  were  restored  !  Madame  Hugo,  still  a 
royalist,  entered  with  her  whole  heart  into  the  popular 
rejoicings.  It  became  a  fashion  to  wear  green  shoes,  to 
signify  the  treading  under  foot  of  the  color  of  the  empire; 
her  shoes  were  always  green.     She  was  present  at  all  the 


238  THE   MOTHER   OF  VICTOR   HUGO. 

public  fetes,  and  seemed  to  have  regained  her  youth. 
Indeed,  her  loyally  was  so  •well  known  that  the  Count 
d'Artois  sent  the  silver  decoration  of  the  Order  of  the 
Lily  to  the  sons  of  so  devoted  an  adherent,  and  very 
proud  they  were  of  their  new  dignity.  Victor,  wearing 
his  lily  at  his  button-hole,  and  attending  a  festival  with 
the  Foucher  family  and  his  own,  while  little  Mademoiselle 
Adele  leaned  upon  his  arm,  felt  himself  to  be  an  important 
personage. 

One  painful  result  came  to  this  family  from  the  accession 
of  Louis  XVIII.  The  political  differences  which  had  so 
long  estranged  General  and  Madame  Hugo  were  so 
exaggerated  by  it  that  they  agreed  to  live  apart,  the  chil- 
dren remaining  with  their  mother. 

From  early  childhood  Victor  had  been  accustomed  to 
compose  poetry,  trying  his  hand  at  narrative  poems, 
royalist  odes,  epigrams,  songs,  tragedies,  translations 
from  the  Latin,  and  even  a  comic  opera — the  last  dedi- 
cated, as  were  many  of  his  best  pieces,  to  his  mother. 
She  knew  of  his  literary  attempts  and  encouraged  him  to 
persevere  in  them,  although  no  encouragement  was  neces- 
sary, since  writing  was  to  him  a  second  nature.  His 
military  dramas  had  long  been  famous  among  his  school- 
mates, by  whom  they  were  performed  under  his  direction, 
with  such  costumes  and  accessories  as  could  be  made  or 
found  for  the  occasion.  He  always  took  the  chief  role 
for  himself,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  performed  it  with 
an  earnestness  that  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  his  comrades 
little  less  than  the  perfection  of  tragic  art.  But  it  was 
not  until  he  was  fifteen  that  his  talent  became  known  to 
a  larger  public  than  that  afforded  by  the  home  circle  and 
the  school. 

In  1817  the  subject  proposed  by  the  French  Academy 
for  the  prize  in  poetry  was  The  Happiness  resulting  from 
Study  in  all  Situations  of  Life.     It  occurred  to  Victor  to 


THE   MOTHER   OF  VICTOR   HUGO.  239 

compete,  and,  entering  at  once  upon  the  work  without 
telling  any  one  of  his  intention,  he  completed  a  poem  of 
three  hundred  and  twenty  lines.  When  it  was  written 
he  felt  the  need  of  a  confidant  to  assist  him  in  presenting 
it  to  the  secretary  of  the  Academy — an  ordeal  which  he 
dared  not  face  alone  —  and  he  trusted  the  weighty 
secret  to  M.  Biscarrat,  a  young  teacher  of  his  school, 
with  whom  he  was  on  very  friendly  terms.  An  accident 
also  rendered  his  brother  Abel  aware  of  what  was  going 
on,  and  he  it  was  who  brought  to  the  young  poet  news  of 
the  result  of  the  experiment.  He  appeared  one  day  with 
two  friends  at  the  school,  while  Victor  was  engaged  in  a 
romping  game,  and  called  out  to  him  : 

"  Come  here,  stupid  !  " 

The  stupid  came. 

"  You  are  a  fine  fellow ! "  Abel  went  on.  "  It  was  well 
worth  your  while  to  put  such  stuff  in  your  verses  !  Who 
asked  you  your  age  ?  The  Academy  thought  you  wished 
to  mystify  them.  But  for  that  you  would  have  had  the 
prize.     What  a  donkey  you  are !     You  have  a  Mention." 

It  was  indeed  as  Abel — whose  glowing  countenance 
belied  his  rough  words — had  said.  An  unfortunate  line, 
in  which  he  described  himself  as  a  poet  of  scarcely  fifteen, 
had  deprived  Victor  of  the  prize.  But  at  that  time  even 
an  honorable  Mention  from  the  Academy  was  an  import- 
ant event.  Victor's  name  was  in  the  papers ;  he  was 
congratulated  by  all  his  friends ;  and  his  teachers  as  well 
as  his  comrades  were  proud  to  have  him  a  member  of 
their  school.  Madame  Hugo  was  happy,  confident  that 
this  success  would  lead  to  greater. 

A  little  later,  however,  he  gave  her  something  other 
than  literature  to  think  of,  and  which  did  not  appear  to 
her  nearly  as  satisfactory.  Upon  leaving  school,  Eugene 
and  Victor  came  to  live  with  their  mother,  and  went  with 
heT  every  evening  to  visit  their  old  friends  and  neighbors 

15 


240  THE  MOTHER   OF   VICTOR   HUGO. 

the  Fouchers.  After  the  first  greetings,  Madame  Hugo, 
without  removing  her  shawl  or  bonnet,  would  establish 
herself  in  one  corner  of  the  fireplace,  take  her  work  from 
a  little  bag  and  begin  to  crochet.  Opposite  her  would  sit 
M.  Foucher  with  a  candle  and  a  snuff-box  upon  a  stand 
^beside  him,  and  a  book  upon  his  knee.  Between  them 
would  be  Madame  Foucher  and  the  young  people  of  both 
families,  in  silence.  Now  and  then  Madame  Hugo  would 
pause  in  her  work  for  a  moment  to  look  into  the  fire,  or 
would  extend  her  snuff-box  (for  she,  too,  was  a  snuff- 
toker)  to  M.  Foucher,  saying : 

"  Will  you  take  a  pinch,  Monsieur  Foucher  ? " 
"  Thank  you,  Madame,"  he  would  reply,  helping  him- 
self, and  then  again  there  would  be  silence,  for  the  older 
people  did  not  care  to  talk,  and  the  younger  were  not 
permitted  to  do  so  in  their  presence.  But  these  quiet 
evenings  were  not  dull  to  Victor,  for  he  found  ample 
satisfaction  in  sitting  still  and  stealing  looks  at  Madem- 
oiselle Adele,  with  whom  he  had  fallen  very  much  in 
love.  She  returned  his  affection.  When  the  state  of 
affairs  was  discovered  by  her  parents  and  Madame  Hugo, 
all  of  them  disapproved,  for  neither  Adele  nor  Victor  had 
property.  He  had  his  fortune  to  make,  and  both  were 
very  young.  It  was  thought  that  if  a  mere  boy  and  girl 
fancy  existed  between  them,  time  and  separation  would 
destroy  it ;  while  if  it  were  something  more  they  could 
afford  to  wait.  By  an  arrangement  among  the  parents, 
therefore,  intercourse  between  the  two  families  was  broken 
off. 

Shortly  before  this,  Madame  Hugo  suffered  from  a 
severe  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  and  had  been  nursed 
through  her  illness  with  devoted  care  by  her  sons.  Victor 
had  been  intending  to  compete  for  the  annual  prizes 
offered  at  the  Floral  Games  of  Toulouse,  but  his  mother's 
danger  put  all  thought  of   composition  from   his  mind. 


THE    MOTHER    OF    VICTOR    HUGO.  241 

One  night,  when  she  was  a  little  better,  she  asked  him  if 
he  had  written  the  poem  which  he  was  to  send  in.  He 
replied  that  he  had  not,  and  that  it  was  useless  to  think 
of  doing  so,  since  to  reach  Toulouse  in  time  it  would  need 
to  be  despatched  the  next  day.  Madame  Hugo  seemed 
to  feel  so  deeply  the  loss  of  this  opportunity,  which  her 
sickness  had  caused  him  to  miss,  that  as  soon  as  she  fell 
asleep  he  procured  a  pen  and  paper  and  sat  by  her  side 
all  night,  writing  the  poem,  which  she  found  in  the  morn- 
ing upon  her  bed.  He  sent  it,  with  another  which  he  had 
written  before,  to  Toulouse.  Both  poems  won  prizes,  and 
a  few  days  later  he  had  the  happiness  of  showing  to  his 
mother  the  golden  lily  and  the  golden  amaranth  awarded 
him  by  the  judges. 

After  her  recovery  the  family  removed  to  another  house, 
but  the  effort  of  moving  and  the  labor  consequent  upon 
settling  down  in  the  new  room,  brought  on  a  second 
hemorrhage.  This  was  followed  by  a  long  period  of 
deceptive  improvement ;  then  again  she  took  to  her  bed. 
The  doctor  did  not  give  up  hope,  and  her  sons  were  sure 
that  she  would  recover.  On  the  twenty-seventh  of  June, 
1821,  Eugene  and  Victor  were  alone  with  her  in  the  room. 

"  Look,"  said  Eugene  to  Victor,  "  how  well  mamma  is! 
She  has  not  waked  since  midnight." 

"Yes,"  replied  Victor,  "she  will  soon  recover." 

He  looked  at  her  tranquil  face  and  bent  to  kiss  her. 
She  was  dead. 

All  her  children,  but  Victor  most,  mourned  her  deeply. 
After  the  funeral  he  wandered  in  the  cemetery  alone, 
softly  calling  her  name,  until  at  night  the  gates  were 
closed  and  he  was  forced  to  leave.  He  could  not  bear  to 
return  to  the  empty  house.  He  paced  the  streets  until  a 
late  hour,  when,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  turned  into  the 
street  where  the  Fouchers  lived,  wishing  to  gain  some 
comfort  if  possible  by  thinking  of  these  kind  old  friends, 


242  THE   MOTHER   OP   VICTOR   HUGO. 

and  of  Adele.  He  found  their  house  brilliantly  lighted 
and  resounding  with  music  and  laughter;  and  he  saw 
Adele  within,  in  a  ball  dress,  with  flowers  in  her  hair, 
laughing  and  dancing.  It  was  her  father's  birthday,  and 
a  ball  having  been  planned  by  way  of  celebration,  he  had 
been  unwilling  to  deprive  his  daughter  of  a  pleasure,  and 
had  not  told  her  of  Madame  Hugo's  death. 

The  next  morning  while  she  was  walking  in  the  garden 
Victor  entered,  and  his  face  at  once  showed  her  that 
something  sad  had  happened. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  running  up  to  him. 

"My  mother  is  dead,"  he  answered;  "she  was  buried 
yesterday." 

"And  I  was  dancing!"  exclaimed  Adele,  bursting  into 
tears.  She  explained  that  she  had  known  nothing  of  the 
event,  which  indeed  he  had  already  guessed ;  and  they 
mourned  together  for  her  who  had  been  so  devoted  a 
mother  to  the  one,  and  to  whom  the  other  had  hoped  to 
give  a  daughter's  care.  They  always  afterward  looked 
upon  that  sad  morning  as  their  betrothal,  and  when  a 
few  days  later  the  formal  demand  was  made  for  the  young 
lady's  hand,  she  said  simply  that  she  considered  herself 
already  engaged.  A  year  later  they  were  married — a 
husband  of  twenty  and  a  wife  of  seventeen.  The  union 
was  productive  of  nothing  but  happiness.  If  she  was 
not  a  daughter  to  the  mother  of  her  husband,  it  was  her 
hand  who  recorded  most  of  the  events  above  related. 
She  was  the  temoin  who  recounted  the  story  of  the  early 
married  life  of  General  Hugo  and  the  amorous  daughter 
of  La  Vcnde'e.* 

*  Victor  Hugo  raconte  par  un  Temoin  de  sa  Vie.     Paris,  1868. 


XVIII. 

LAURA  BRIDGMAN. 

IF  the  reader  has  ever  known  a  family  one  child  of 
which  was  either  blind,  deaf  and  dumb,  or  so  lame 
as  to  be  helpless,  he  has  probably  been  struck  with 
the  great  variety  of  compensating  circumstances  which 
gathered  round  that  child  to  make  its  lot  not  less  happy 
than  that  of  children  in  general.  It  has  seemed  to  me 
sometimes  as  if  everybody  and  everything  connected  with 
such  a  child  enters  into  a  sort  of  holy  conspiracy  to  alle- 
viate its  condition.  Its  mother  loves  it  with  a  singular 
depth  of  tenderness.  Its  father  regards  it  with  pitying- 
fondness.  The  relations  and  friends  of  the  family  vie 
with  one  another  which  shall  do  most  for  it.  Its  own 
brothers  and  sisters  —  cruel  as  children  often  are  to  one 
another  —  often  look  upon  the  afflicted  one  with  a  mixture 
of  awe  and  affection,  which  makes  them  vigilant  in  good 
offices  toward  it. 

In  the  town  of  Hanover,  in  New  Hampshire,  the  seat 
of  Dartmouth  College,  a  town  surrounded  with  moun- 
tains, and  traversed  by  rapid  mountain  streams,  Laura 
Dewey  Bridgman  was  born,  in  the  year  1829.  She  was 
a  bright,  pretty  child,  with  pleasing  blue  eyes,  but  of  so 
feeble  a  constitution,  that  during  the  first  eighteen  months 
of  her  existence  her  parents  scarcely  expected  her  to  out- 
live her  infancy.  But  after  her  eighteenth  month,  she 
rapidly  improved  in  health,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  she 
was  as  well  and  vigorous  as  children  of  her  age  usually 
are.     Her  parents,  as  parents  are  apt  to  do,  thought  that 


244  LAURA   BRIDGMAN. 

she  exhibited  at  twenty  months  signs  of  uncommon  intel- 
ligence. 

She  was  two  years  of  age  when  she  was  attacked  by  a 
disease  which  brought  her  to  death's  door,  one  of  those 
complaints  the  after  consequences  of  which  are  often 
more  terrible  and  lasting  than  the  disease  itself.  For 
seven  weeks  the  fever  raged.  Her  eyes  and  ears  became 
living  sores,  and  they  were  finally  consumed.  For  five 
months  she  lay  in  a  darkened  room,  and  two  whole  years 
passed  before  she  was  sufficiently  restored  to  take  her 
natural  place  in  the  family. 

But  how  changed  her  condition!  She  was  totally 
blind.  She  was  totally  deaf.  She  had  lost  the  power  of 
speech.  She  could  not  smell.  There  remained  no  avenue 
from  the  outer  world  to  the  mind  within,  except  the  sense 
of  touch.  Such  was  her  state  at  the  age  of  four  years  — 
a  healthy,  sensitive,  eager,  intelligent  child,  able  only  to 
use  her  feet  as  means  of  locomotion,  and  her  fingers  to 
acquire  knowledge. 

As  soon  as  she  was  well  enough  to  get  about,  she 
began  curiously  to  grope  around  her  room,  and  then  to 
explore  the  house,  feeling,  lifting,  touching  in  various 
ways  every  object,  animate  and  inanimate,  within  her 
reach.  She  used  to  go  with  her  mother  about  the  house, 
and  feel  her  hands  as  she  performed  the  usual  household 
work,  and  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  imitating  her 
motions,  although  it  was  impossible  she  should  know 
their  object.  Her  imitative  power  was  remarkable,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  next  three  years  she  even  learned  to 
knit  and  to  sew  a  little.  Being  human,  she  began  also  to 
show  the  less  amiable  traits  of  human  nature,  to  her 
parents'  great  perplexity  and  distress.  As  they  had  no 
way  of  reasoning  with  her,  there  was  no  method  except 
that  of  force  to  prevent  her  from  running  into  danger,  or 
doing  what  was  manifestly  improper.  So  passed  the  first 
three  years  after  her  affliction. 


LAURA    BEIDGMAN.  245 

During  those  years  her  great  friend  and  benefactor  was 
in  training  in  the  city  of  Boston.  Dr.  S.  G.  Howe,  after 
studying  medicine,  was  so  powerfully  wrought  upon  by  that 
movement  for  the  independence  of  Greece  in  which  Lord 
Byron  spent  the  last  months  of  his  life,  that  he  went  to 
Greece,  where  he  served  as  a  surgeon  in  the  patriot  army, 
and  in  other  capacities  for  five  years.  Afterwards  he 
was  in  the  Polish  movement  of  1831,  which  led  to  his 
imprisonment  in  Prussia  for  six  weeks.  At  thirty-two, 
we  find  him  President  of  the  Perkins  Institution  for  the 
Blind  in  South  Boston,  in  the  founding  of  which  he  had 
taken  an  active  part. 

In  1837,  when  he  had  had  five  years'  experience  in 
teaching  the  blind,  he  heard  of  Laura  Bridgman,  and 
went  to  Hanover  to  visit  her,  intending,  if  her  parents 
would  consent,  to  bring  her  to  the  Institution,  to  see  if  it 
were  possible  to  give  her  some  instruction. 

"  I  found  her,"  he  once  wrote,  "  with  a  well-formed 
figure,  a  strongly  marked,  nervous-sanguine  temperament, 
a  large  and  beautifully  shaped  head,  and  her  whole  sys- 
tem in  healthy  action." 

With  the  cheerful  consent  of  her  parents,  she  was 
transferred  to  the  Institution  in  the  fall  of  1837,  when 
she  was  eight  years  of  age.  For  several  days  after  enter- 
ing the  Institution  she  seemed  much  puzzled  with  the 
novelty  of  the  objects  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  and 
the  doctor  made  no  attempt  to  instruct  her  for  two  weeks, 
when  she  had  become  pretty  familiar  with  her  new  abode 
and  acquainted  with  its  inmates. 

He  began  her  instruction  in  this  way :  He  took  a  com- 
mon spoon  and  key,  and  pasted  upon  each  a  label  upon 
which  its  name  was  printed  in  raised  letters.  These 
objects  she  felt  very  carefully,  and  was  not  long  in  dis- 
covering the  difference  in  the  two  words.  A  blind  child 
makes  a  discovery  of  that  kind  in  an  instant,  owing  to  the 


246  LAURA   BRIDGMAN. 

sensitiveness  of  its  touch.  Next,  he  placed  before  her 
two  labels  with  the  same  two  names  printed  upon  them. 
She  soon  showed  that  she  perceived  the  difference  by 
putting  the  label  k-e-y  upon  the  key,  and  the  label  s-p-o-o-n 
upon  the  spoon.  From  that  moment,  the  success  of  this 
most  interesting  experiment  was  assured,  and  the  doctor 
encouraged  her  by  patting  her  on  the  head.  Other 
objects  were  placed  before  her,  and  she  rapidly  learned  to 
placed  the  right  label  upon  each.  When  her  table  was 
covered  with  articles  and  labels  lying  in  confusion,  she 
would  sort  them  out,  placing  upon  every  one  of  them  its 
printed  name. 

The  next  step  was  an  important  advance.  Types  were 
given  her  consisting  of  certain  required  letters.  At  first 
the  types  were  arranged  in  proper  order,  b-o-o-k,  and  then, 
after  a  time,  they  were  thrown  into  confusion,  and  she 
was  taught  to  put  them  together  again  in  the  same  order. 
This  process  was  repeated  until  she  could  form  the  name, 
in  her  moveable  types,  of  all  the  articles  that  could  be 
placed  within  her  reach.  Gratifying  as  her  progress  was, 
it  was  still  evident  to  her  patient  instructor  that  she  did 
not  as  yet  comprehend  the  object  which  he  had  in  view. 
But,  one  day,  while  she  was  setting  up  names  in  this 
manner,  a  change  came  over  her  demeanor. 

"Hitherto,"  says  Doctor  Howe,  "  the  process  had  been 
mechanical,  and  the  success  about  as  great  as  teaching  a 
very  knowing  dog  a  variety  of  tricks.  The  poor  child 
had  sat  in  mute  amazement,  and  patiently  imitated  every- 
thing her  teacher  did  ;  but  now  the  truth  began  to  flash 
upon  her  ;  her  intellect  began  to  work ;  she  perceived 
that  here  was  a  way  by  which  she  could  herself  make  up 
a  sign  of  anything  that  was  in  her  own  mind,  and  show 
it  to  another  mind  ;  and  at  once  her  countenance  lighted 
up  with  a  human  expression.  ...  I  could  almost  fix  upon 
the  moment  when  this  truth  dawned  upon  her  mind,  and 
Boread  its  light  to  her  countenance." 


LAURA   BRIDGMAN.  247 

Doctor  Howe  next  procured  for  her  a  font  of  metal 
types  with  the  letters  cast  upon  one  end,  and  a  board  in 
which  there  were  square  holes  in  which  she  could  place 
the  types,  so  that  the  raised  letters  alone  would  extend 
above  the  surface  of  the  wood.  Upon  handing  her  a 
pencil  or  a  watch,  she  would  immediately  set  up  its  name 
in  type,  so  that  the  blind  could  read  it ;  and  in  this  way 
she  was  exercised  for  several  weeks,  until  her  list  of 
words  became  considerable.  She  took  great  delight  in 
this  exercise,  and  learned  far  more  rapidly  than  when  her 
performances  were  purely  mechanical. 

The  next  step  was  to  enable  her  to  communicate  with 
others  by  means  of  her  fingers,  using  the  various  deaf 
and  dumb  alphabets.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  she 
learned  very  quickly  to  represent  the  different  letters  by 
the  position  of  her  fingers ;  for  she  now  had  a  clear  sense 
of  what  the  teacher  was  about.  "When  she  had  been  a 
year  in  the  Institution,  she  could  converse  with  its  inmates 
with  considerable  freedom,  and  was  apparently  among 
the  happiest  of  them  all.  She  never  appeared  to  be  in 
low  spirits,  but  was  full  of  fun  and  frolic,  romped  with 
the  rest  of  the  children,  and  laughed  louder  than  them 
all.  When  alone,  she  seemed  more  than  content  with  her 
knitting  and  sewing,  and  would  amuse  herself  for  hours 
in  that  way.  In  the  course  of  time,  she  learned  to  write, 
and  the  first  use  she  made  of  this  accomplishment  was  to 
write  a  letter  to  her  mother. 

When  she  had  been  six  months  in  the  Institution,  her 
mother  came  to  see  her ;  but  Laura,  though  she  ran 
against  her,  and  felt  of  her  hands  and  dress,  did  not 
recognize  her — to  her  mothers  great  grief.  But  after  a 
while,  when  her  mother  took  hold  of  her  again,  an  idea 
seemed  to  flash  upon  her  mind ;  she  eagerly  felt  her 
mother's  hands  ;  became  pale  and  red  by  turns  ;  and 
when  her  mother  drew  her  close  to  her  side  and  kissed 


248  LAURA    BRIDGMAN. 

her  fondly,  all  doubt  suddenly  disappeared  from  the 
child's  countenance  ;  and,  her  face  beaming  with  joy,  she 
yielded  to  her  mother's  embraces. 

One  of  her  visitors,  when  she  was  twelve  years  of  age, 
was  Charles  Dickens,  who  was  profoundly  interested  in 
her. 

"  Her  face,"  he  says,  "  was  radiant  with  intelligence 
and  pleasure.  Her  hair,  braided  by  her  own  hands,  was 
bound  about  her  head,  whose  intellectual  capacity  and 
development  were  beautifully  expressed  in  its  graceful 
outline  and  its  broad,  open  brow  ;  her  dress,  arranged  by 
herself,  was  a  pattern  of  neatness  and  simplicity  ;  the 
work  she  had  knitted  lay  beside  her ;  her  writing-book 
was  on  the  desk  she  leaned  upon.  .  .  .  Like  other  inmates 
of  that  house,  she  had  a  green  ribbon  bound  around  her 
eyelids.  A  dull  she  had  dressed  lay  near  her  upon  the 
ground.  I  took  it  up,  and  saw  that  she  had  made  a  green 
fillet,  such  as  she  wore  herself,  and  fastened  it  about  its 
minute  eyes.  .  .  .  My  hand  she  rejected  at  once,  as  she 
does  that  of  any  man  who  is  a  stranger  to  her.  But  she 
retained  my  wife's  with  evident  pleasure,  kissing  her, 
and  examined  her  dress  with  a  girl's  curiosity  and 
interest." 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Dr.  Howe  commissioned  Miss 
Sophie  A.  Peabody  of  Salem,  afterward  the  wife  of 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  to  model  the  bust  of  Laura  in  clay, 
which  may  still  be  seen  in  the  Asylum  at  Boston.  The 
artist  was  then  engaged  to  Hawthorne,  and  the  money 
(1150)  that  she  received  for  the  work,  went  into  a  fund 
which  she  had  already  begun  to  set  apart  for  her  wedding 
trousseau.  Laura  herself  watched  the  progress  of  the 
clay  model  with  keen  interest,  perusing  its  features  with 
delicate,  sensitive  fingers,  clapping  her  little  hands  with 
delight,  and  gleefully  speaking  of  the  bust  as  her  "  white 
baby.' 


LAURA   BRIDGMAN.  249 

Mr.  Dickens  spoke  of  the  difference  between  her  treat- 
ment of  himself  and  of  his  wife.  Her  sense  of  feminine 
propriety,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  was,  so  far  as  her 
teachers  could  discern,  inborn.  Xo  child  ever  evinced 
more  regard  to  appearances.  She  was  never  seen  with 
her  dress  in  disorder,  or  in  an  unbecoming  attitude  ;  and 
if  by  chance  she  discovered  a  little  tear  or  dirt  upon  her 
dress  or  person,  she  showed  an  acute  sense  of  shame,  and 
would  hurry  away  to  remove  it.  Her  demeanor  towards 
men  was  all  reserve  and  distance,  but  to  women  she 
would  be  quickly  affectionate,  cling  closely  to  them,  kiss 
and  caress  them  with  unusual  frequency  and  fondness. 
When  a  strange  lady  was  presented  to  her  she  soon 
became  familiar,  examined  her  dress  with  her  fingers,  and 
permitted  her  caresses.  But  with  men  it  was  entirely 
different,  and  she  repelled  every  kind  of  familiarity.  Xo 
matter  how  much  she  was  attached  to  a  male  teacher, 
she  would  not  sit  upon  his  knees,  nor  let  him  clasp  her 
about  the  waist. 

Her  sense  of  ownership  seemed  also  to  be  innate.  She 
was  fond  of  acquiring  property,  and  respected  the  right 
of  ownership  in  others.  She  was  never  known  to  steal, 
and  was  noted  throughout  her  childhood  for  speaking  the 
truth.  Nor  was  she  less  prone  to  imitation  than  other 
children.  She  was  known  to  sit  for  half  an  hour  holding 
a  book  before  her  and  moving  her  lips,  as  she  had  observed 
people  do  wiien  reading.  One  day  she  pretended  that  her 
doll  was  sick,  as  Dr.  Howe  relates,  and  went  through  all 
the  motions  of  tending  it  and  administering  medicine. 
She  carefully  put  it  to  bed,  placed  a  bottle  of  hot  water  at 
its  feet,  laughing  all  the  time  most  heartily. 

"  When  I  came  home,"  adds  the  doctor,  "  she  insisted 
upon  my  going  to  see  it  and  feeling  its  pulse,  and  when  I 
told  her  to  put  a  blister  to  its  back,  she  seemed  to  enjoy 
it  amazingly  and  almost  screamed  with  delight." 


250  LAURA   BRIDGMAN. 

Her  principal  moral  fault  was  a  capricious  quickness 
of  temper.  Though  usually  tractable  and  obedient,  she 
was  liable  to  sudden,  unreasonable  anger,  which  would 
manifest  itself  in  the  usual  ways  of  slamming  the  door 
and  dashing  out  of  the  room.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  she 
took  offence  one  day  because  her  teacher  told  her  to  put 
her  handkerchief  into  her  desk.  She  had  left  it  upon  the 
desk,  which  was  against  a  rule  of  the  school-room. 

"  Put  your  handkerchief  in  your  desk,"  remarked  the 
teacher  in  a  quiet  manner,  supposing  that  she  had  for- 
gotten it. 

Laura  showed  displeasure  in  her  countenance,  hesitated 
a  moment,  and  then  placed  the  handkerchief  in  her  lap, 
saying : 

'.'  I  prefer  to  put  it  in  my  lap." 

The  teacher  seeing  that  the  child  meant  rebellion, 
said : 

"  I  told  you  to  put  it  in  the  desk,  and  now  I  want  you 
to  do  it," 

Laura  sat  still  for  about  two  minutes.  She  then  lifted 
the  lid  very  high,  threw  the  handkerchief  into  the  desk, 
and  let  the  lid  fall  with  a  noise  that  startled  all  the 
school-room. 

"  Are  you  angry  ?  "  asked  the  teacher. 

This  question  had  always  calmed  her  before,  but  it  did 
not  on  this  occasion. 

"  I  am  very  cross,"  said  she. 

The  teacher  replied,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  and  I  am  very 
sorry  you  shut  the  desk  so  hard.  I  want  you  to  open  it 
again,  and  take  your  handkerchief  and  put  it  in  gently." 

"  I  will  take  it  out  to  wipe  my  eyes,  and  put  it  back," 
she  replied. 

The  teacher  told  her  that  she  wished  her  first  of  all  to 
put  it  into  the  desk  gently.  Laura  lifted  the  lid,  took  out 
the  handkerchief,  let  the  lid  slam  as  before,  and  then 
raised  the  handkerchief,  as  if  to  wipe  her  eyes. 


LAURA   BRIDGMAN.  251 

"  No,"  said  the  teacher  with  decision,  and  took  her  hand 
down. 

Laura  sat  awhile  without  motion,  and  then,  as  the 
teacher  reports,  "  uttered  the  most  frightful  yell  I  ever 
heard."  Her  face  was  pale,  and  she  was  trembling  in 
every  limb.  The  teacher,  hearing  the  sound  of  visitors 
approaching,  said  t®  her: 

"  You  must  go  and  sit  alone." 

She  rebelled  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  to  her  room. 
The  spirit  of  defiance  seemed  to  have  obtained  iirm  pos- 
session of  her,  and  some  days  passed  before  she  showed  a 
genuine  penitence.  In  the  interval,  she  behaved  very 
much  as  other  naughty  children  do ;  among  other  things, 
affecting  gayety  of  a  boisterous  character.  At  length, 
however,  through  the  tact  and  perseverance  of  the  teacher, 
she  came  to  a  better  state  of  mind.  It  was  long  before 
she  gained  the  mastery  of  this  fault ;  lapsing  occasionally 
after  she  was  of  age. 

More  than  forty  years  have  passed  since  Charles 
"Dickens  saw  this  afflicted  child,  during  most  of  which 
she  has  lived  at  the  Asylum  and  spent  her  summer  vaca- 
tions at  her  native  village.  Her  education  proves  to  be 
as  successful  as  Mr.  Dickens  regarded  it  before  it  had 
been  tested  by  maturity.  Miss  Bridgman  is  now  (1883) 
fifty-four  years  old.  In  appearance  she  differs  little  from 
a  prevailing  type  of  middle-aged  New  England  ladies. 
She  passes  her  life  very  much  as  she  would  if  she  enjoyed 
the  use  of  all  her  senses. 

The  most  curious  and  interesting  event  of  her  later 
years  was  her  reversion  from  the  philosophical  Unitarian- 
ism  of  Dr.  Howe  to  the  religion  of  her  parents,  who  were 
Baptists.  She  became  acquainted  in  1855  with  a  blind 
girl  from  Germany,  an  enthusiastic  Baptist,  who  imparted 
to  Laura  her  view  of  the  Christian  religion.  She  became 
after  many  months  of  reflection  and  internal  struggle  a 


252  LAURA   BRIDGMAN. 

very  fervent  Baptist.  She  wrote  to  one  of  her  teachers 
in  1861: 

"  I  am  better  this  morn.  I  have  not  been  well  much 
of  the  time  this  winter  and  in  the  fall.  But  1  am  much 
happier  in  mind  concerning  God,  &  his  begotten  son 
Jesus  Christ.  1  profess  religion  since  last  spring  most 
fervently.  I  devote  a  great  deal  of  my  time  to  studying 
the  sacred  Bible.  1  rejoice  so  highly  that  God  has  helped 
me  to  comprehend  his  works  in  many  ways.  I  read  in 
the  blessed  Bible  daily,  which  1  prize  tiie  most  of  all 
books  in  this  world." 

During  a  visit  to  her  native  place  she  was  baptized  in 
one  of  the  mountain  streams,  and  admitted  to  the  church 
of  which  her  parents  were  members.  The  account  which 
she  gives  of  the  ceremony  is  exceedingly  touching.  The 
thought  first  occurred  to  her  mind  during  a  visit  to  her 
relations  at  Thetford  in  Vermont,  where  she  remained 
for  some  months,  associating  chiefly  with  her  cousin  Emily. 

"  1  attained,"  she  wrote,  "  much  enjoyment  of  convers- 
ing with  my  cousin  about  sacred  things.  I  thought  how 
delightful  it  might  have  been  to  my  soul  if  I  could  be 
baptized  in  the  pure  water  by  the  minister  who  usually 
preached  the  Holy  Ghost  to  the  blest  church  in  Thetford. 
But  my  dear  God  did  not  approve  of  my  doing  that  away 
from  my  home.  I  felt  fearful  at  times  from  these 
thoughts  concerning  the  performance  of  baptism.  I 
thought  that  there  was  danger  of  sinking  my  head  beneath 
the  water,  &  I  might  be  drowned  in  the  depth  of  water. 
I  did  not  feel  strong  &  confident  sufficiently  for  being 
in  a  grave.  .  .  In  the  fall  I  had  much  delight  in  a 
religious  conversation  with  my  dear  adopted  sister  & 
her  husband,  &  my  dear  mother.  One  sunny  p.  m.  1 
visited  my  adopted  sister,  Mrs.  H.  We  had  a  very  solemn 
happiness  with  a  talk  in  the  library  with  Mr.  H.,  a  most 
excellent  minister.     We  transacted   some  business  con- 


LAURA   BRIDGMAN.  253 

cerning  the  sacred  ordinance.  My  sister,  Mrs.  Herrick, 
called  upon  me  the  first  Saturday  of  July ;  she  interpreted 
some  sentences  to  me  for  the  reverend.  Shortly  after 
dinner  I  accompanied  my  mother  to  his  house  a  few  rods 
from  my  home.  I  had  a  happy  call  there  till  it  was  time 
for  us  all  to  go  to  the  holy  sanctuary  to  attribute  prayers 
and  holy  communion  to  the  Almighty  Father.  The  holy 
church  agreed  to  vote  me  a  member.  The  sixth  of  July, 
the  first  Sabbath,  my  cousin  Mary  called  to  see  me  once 
or  twice  Sunday.  I  went  with  her  &  my  mother  to  Mr. 
Herrick's  house  at  noon.  I  was  so  glad  to  meet  a  few 
ladies  there ;  I  was  waited  upon  by  those  ladies  in  prepa- 
ration for  baptism.  I  could  hardly  help  myself  undress 
and  dress  myself.  Mr.  H.  welcomed  me  so  gladly  at  his 
house.  I  was  guided  to  the  brookside  by  my  mamma  & 
Mrs.  Huntington.  Mr.  H.  sent  for  me  one  of  his  chairs  to 
sit  by  the  side  of  the  brook  while  holy  prayer  was  being- 
addressed.  Two  students  sang  a  hymn  112.  I  believe 
that  the  first  line  of  the  hymn  is  : 

"In  all  my  God's  appointed  ways." 

I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  talk  with  my  fingers  at  the 
blessed  ordinance,  but  I  was  so  happy  to  have  my  mother 
or  any  person  speak  to  me.  My  soul  was  overwhelmed 
with  spiritual  joy  and  light  in  the  presence  of  God,  & 
his  blest  Son  Jesus  Christ.  I  could  hardly  smile,  for  I 
felt  solemnly  happy.  .  .  As  Mr.  H.  took  me  by  the 
hand  crossing  the  pure  water  I  felt  a  thrill  of  crying  for 
joy,  though  not  one  drop  of  a  tear  fell  in  sight  from  my 
eyes.  .  .  My  dear  father  &  a  gentleman  aided  me  up 
out  of  the  water,  &  I  sat  in  the  chair  with  my  wet 
clothes,  on  utterance  of  another  prayer,  I  went  to  church 
&  the  holy  communion.  Mr.  H.  gave  me  the  right  hand 
of  fellowship  in  God.  It  was  a  most  glorious  &  pious 
Sunday,  evermore  for  me  to  retain." 


254  LAURA   BEIDGMAN. 

Since  that  period  her  thoughts  have  evidently  had  but 
slight  relation  to  this  world  and  its  delights,  although 
her  enjoyment  of  life  appears  to  be  undiminished.  The 
change  in  her  religious  feelings  was  far  from  lessening 
her  regard  for  her  illustrious  teacher,  Dr.  Howe.  He  died 
in  1876.  A  few  days  after  his  death  she  wrote  to  a 
friend : 

"  I  think  much  of  Dr.  H.  day  &  night,  with  sorrow,  & 
gratitude,  &  love,  &  sincerity." 

She  spoke  and  wrote  frequently  of  him,  and  looks 
forward  with  perfect  confidence  to  meeting  him  again. 
She  retains  the  tastes  and  the  habits  of  industry  which 
she  acquired  at  the  Institution  in  her  childhood,  taking 
pleasure  in  decorating  her  room.  She  has  named  her 
rooni  Sunny  Home,  from  one  of  its  windows  which  lets 
in  the  sunlight,  of  which  she  is  as  fond  as  though  she 
could  behold  the  pictures  it  creates.  She  never  finds 
time  hanging  heavily  upon  her  hands.  Besides  reading 
the  books  and  periodicals  printed  in  raised  letters  for  the 
blind,  she  sews,  knits,  crochets  lace,  makes  mats  and  other 
fancy  articles,  which  she  sells  to  visitors  with  her  auto- 
graph attached.  She  retains,  too,  her  power  to  enjoy  a 
jest,  and  has  wholly  recovered  from  her  propensity  to 
bursts  of  anger.     I  conclude  with  one  of  her  poems : 

LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS. 

Light  represents  day. 

Light  is  more  brilliant  than  ruby,  even  diamond. 

Light  is  whiter  than  snow. 

Darkness  is  night-like. 

It  looks  as  black  as  iron. 

Darkness  is  a  sorrow.  , 

Joy  is  a  thrilling  rapture. 

Light  yields  a  shooting  joy  through  the  human. 

Light  is  as  sweet  as  honey,  but 

Darkness  is  bitter  as  salt  and  more  than  vinegar. 


LAURA   BRIDGMAN.  255 

Light  is  finer  than  gold,  and  even  finest  gold. 

Joy  is  a  real  light. 

Joy  is  a  blazing  flame. 

Darkness  is  frosty. 

A  good  sleep  is  a  white  curtain. 

A  bad  sleep  is  a  black  curtain.* 


*  Life  and  Education  of  Laura  Dewey  Bridgnian.    By  Mary  Swift  Lamson.  Bostoc. 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  1881. 

16 


XIX. 

THE  WIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  IN  HER  WORK- 
ROOM AT  MOUNT  VERNON. 

THERE  are  fine  ladies,  it  is  said,  at  present,  who  dis- 
dain the  homely,  honorable  duties  of  housekeeping, 
thinking  it  beneath  them  to  attend  to  the  comfort,  happi- 
ness, and  dignity  of  their  families.  If  any  such  there 
are,  I  should  like  to  invite  them  to  look  into  the  work- 
room of  Mrs.  Washington,  at  Mount  Vernon,  the  apart- 
ment in  which  the  first  lady  of  Virginia,  in  Virginia's 
palmy  days,  used  to  spend  her  mornings  at  work,  sur- 
rounded by  busy  servants.  Every  great  house  in  Virginia 
had  such  a  room  in  old  times,  and  ladies  plumed  them- 
selves upon  excelling  in  the  household  arts  practiced 
therein.  This  particular  work-room  at  Mount  Vernon  is 
described  in  old  letters  of  the  period,  copied  and  given 
to  the  world  some  years  ago,  by  the  late  Bishop  Meade, 
of  Virginia. 

It  was  a  plain,  good  sized  apartment,  arranged  and  fur- 
nished with  a  view  to  facilitating  work.  4t  one  end 
there  was  a  large  table  for  cutting  out  clothes  upon.  At 
that  time  every  garment  worn  by  the  slaves  had  to  be  cut 
out  and  sewed,  either  by  the  ladies  of  the  mansion-house, 
or  under  their  superintendence.  The  greater  part  of 
General  Washington's  slaves  worked  on  plantations  sev- 
eral miles  distant  from  his  home,  and  were  provided 
for  by  their  several  overseers  ;  but  there  were  a  great 
number  of  household  servants  at  Mount  Vernon,  besides 
grooms,  gardeners,  fishermen,  and  others,  for  whom  the 

(256) 


THE   WIFE   OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON.  257 

lady  of  the  house  had  to  think  and  contrive.  At  that 
broad  table  sat  a  skillful,  nice  looking  negro  woman, 
somewhat  advanced  in  years,  with  a  pair  of  shears  in  her 
hand,  cutting,  cutting,  cutting,  almost  all  day  and  every 
day,  the  countless  trowsers,  dresses,  jackets,  and  shirts, 
needed  by  a  family  of,  perhaps,  a  hundred  persons.  Every- 
thing worn  by  the  General  or  by  herself,  except  their  best 
outside  garments,  which  were  imported  from  London, 
was  made  in  that  room,  under  the  eye  of  the  .lady  of 
the  house. 

All  the  commoner  fabrics,  too,  were  home-made.  On 
one  side  of  the  room  sat  a  young  colored  woman,  spinning 
yarn ;  on  another,  her  mother  knitting ;  elsewhere,  a 
woman  doing  some  of  the  finer  ironing ;  here  a  woman 
winding  ;  there  a  little  colored  girl  learning  to  sew.  In 
the  midst  of  all  this  industry  sat  Mrs.  Washington, 
ready  to  solve  difficulties  as  they  arose,  and  prompt  to 
set  right  any  operation  that  might  be  going  wrong.  She 
was  always  knitting.  From  morning  till  dinner  time — 
which  was  two  o'clock — her  knitting  was  seldom  out  of 
her  hands.  In  this  work-room  she  usually  received  the 
ladies  of  her  familiar  acquaintance  when  they  called  in 
the  morning,  but  she  never  laid  aside  her  knitting.  The 
click  of  her  needles  was  always  heard  in  the  pauses  of 
conversation. 

Her  friends  were  surprised  to  see  her,  after  her  eight 
years'  residence  at  the  seat  of  Government,  instantly 
resume  her  former  way  of  life.  They  found  her  as  of 
old,  in  her  work-room,  with  her  servants  about  her,  knit- 
ting and  giving  directions.  One  lady,  who  visited  her 
after  the  General's  retirement  from  the  presidency,  gives 
an  instance  of  her  prudent  generosity  : 

"  She  points  out  to  me  several  pairs  of  nice  colored 
stockings  and  gloves  she  had  just  finished,  and  presents 
me  with  a  pair  half  done,  which  she  begs  I  will  finish  and 
wear  for  her  sa/ce." 


258  THE   WIFE   OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

Thus  she  contrived  in  one  and  the  same  act,  to  make  a 
present  and  give  a  practical  lesson  in  industry.  She  was, 
indeed,  a  signal  example  of  that  virtue,  at  a  time  when 
ladies  of  wealth  and  importance  could  scarcely  avoid 
practicing  it.  She  used  to  speak  of  the  time  spent  in 
levees  and  other  ceremonial  duties,  as  "  my  lost  days." 

The  chief  labor  of  the  mistress  of  a  house  then  was  in 
training  servants.  Mrs.  Washington,  like  the  other  Vir- 
ginian ladies,  had  an  eye  upon  the  families  of  her  slaves 
— and  most  of  them  had  very  large  families — and  when 
she  noticed  a  little  girl  that  seemed  bright  and  apt  to 
learn,  she  would  have  her  come  to  the  work-room,  where 
she  would  be  taught  to  sew,  and  afterwards  other  home 
arts.  In  this  way,  the  house  was  kept  supplied  with 
good  cooks,  chamber-maids,  seamstresses,  and  nurses. 
Promising  girls  were  regularly  brought  up,  or,  as  we  may 
say,  apprenticed  to  the  household  trade  which  they  were 
to  spend  their  lives  in  exercising. 

This  training  of  servants  was  formerly  supposed  to  be 
part  of  the  duty  of  all  mistresses  of  great  houses,  whether 
the  servants  were  white  or  black,  bond  or  free.  Ladies 
did  not  then  regard  a  house,  with  all  its  complicated  busi- 
ness and  apparatus,  as  a  great  clock,  which,  being  wound 
up  after  breakfast,  would  run  twenty-four  hours  without 
further  attention.  Having  themselves  performed  all  the 
operations  of  housekeeping,  and  having  acquired  skill  in 
their  performance,  they  knew  that  a  good  servant  is  not 
born,  but  made ;  and  they  were  willing  to  take  a  world 
of  trouble  in  forming  a  servant,  in  order  that  by  and  by 
they  might  enjoy  the  ease  and  pleasure  derived  from  skill- 
ful service.  I  must  confess  that  sometimes,  when  I  have 
heard  ladies  complaining  of  the  awkwardness  of  girls 
who,  until  recently,  had  never  seen  a  household  imple- 
ment more  complicated  than  a  poker  or  an  iron  pot,  the 
thought  has  occurred  to  me  that  possibly,  if  they  would 


THE   WIFE   OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON.  259 

take  some  trouble  to  teach  such  girls  their  duty,  they 
would  observe  a  gradual  improvement. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Virginia  that  Mrs.  Washington, 
with  all  her  good  qualities,  was  a  little  tart  in  her  temper, 
and  favored  (he  General,  occasionally,  with  nocturnal  dis- 
course, too. much  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  Caudle.  The  story 
rests  upon  the  slightest  foundation,  and  it  is  safe  to  dis- 
regard it.  Great  housekeepers,  however,  are  not  usually 
noted  for  amiability  of  disposition,  and  ladies  whoso 
husbands  are  very  famous,  are  apt  to  be  overrun  with 
company,  which  is  not  conducive  to  domestic  peace;  nor 
does  it  tend  to  curb  the  license  of  a  woman's  tongue  to 
remember  that,  at  her  marriage,  she  brought  her  husband 
a  vast  increase,  both  of  his  estate,  and  of  his  importance 
in  the  social  system. 

How  far  George  Washington  was,  in  his  youth,  from 
anticipating  the  splendid  career  that  awaited  him!  Ho 
was  by  no  means  so  favored  in  fortune  and  family,  as  his 
biographers  would  have  us  believe.  Every  reader,  I  sup- 
pose, remembers  the  fine  tale,  which  even  Mr.  Irving 
repeats,  of  the  youthful  Washington,  getting  a  midship- 
man's commission  and  yielding  it  again  to  his  mother's 
tears.  There  lay  tne  British  man-of-war  at  anchor  in  the 
river.  The  boat  was  on  the  shore ;  the  lad's  trunk  was 
packed ;  and,  I  think,  his  uniform  was  on.  But,  at  the 
last  moment,  the  tender  youth,  overcome  by  his  mother's 
tears,  declined  to  go.  Such  is  the  romance.  The  truth 
was  this  : 

His  mother,  left  a  widow,  was  anxious  for  the  future 
of  her  boy,  fourteen  years  of  age,  whose  only  inheritance 
was  a  farm  and  tract  of  land  on  the  Rappahannock,  of  no 
great  value  or  promise.  She  was  advised  to  send  the  lad 
to  sea,  before  the  mast,  in  one  of  the  tobacco  ships  that  so 
often  ascended  the  broad  rivers  of  Virginia.  She  was  for 
a  while  disposed  to  favor  the  scheme.     But  her  brother, 


260  THE   WIPE   OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

Joseph  Ball,  a  London  lawyer  in  large  practice,  remon- 
strated against  her  sacrificing  her  son  in  that  way,  and 
advised  her  to  bring  him  up  a  planter. 

"I  understand,"  he  wrote,  "that  you  are  advised,  and 
have  since  thought  of  putting  your  son  George  to  sea.  I 
think  he  had  better  be  put  apprentice  to  a  tinker,  for  a 
common  sailor  before  the  mast  has  by  no  means  the  com- 
mon liberty  of  the  subject ;  for  they  will  press  him  from 
a  ship  where  he  has  fifty  shillings  a  month,  and  make 
him  take  twenty-three,  and  cut  and  slash,  and  use  him 
like  a  dog.  And  as  to  any  considerate  preferment  in  the 
navy,  it  is  not  to  be  expected,  as  there  are  always  so 
many  gaping  for  it  here,  who  have  interest ;  and  he  has 
noneP 

He  proceeds  to  tell  her  that  a  Virginia-planter,  with 
three  or  four  hundred  acres  of  land  and  three  or  four 
slaves,  has  a  great  deal  better  chance  of  winning  a  com- 
fortable and  independent  position,  than  even  the  captain 
of  a  merchant  ship  —  and  it  was  far  from  easy  to  get  to 
be  captain.  "George,"  he  concluded,  "  must  not  bo  in 
too  great  haste  to  be  rich,  nor  aim  at  being  a  fine  gentle- 
man before  his  time ; "  but  "  go  on  gently  and  with 
patience."  The  mother  accepted  this  view  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  the  boy  was  not  cut  and  slashed  on  board  ship. 
He  learned,  as  we  all  know,  the  business  of  a  surveyor, 
and  practiced  that  vocation  until  the  death  of  his  brother 
gave  him  a  competent  estate. 

He  was  Colonel  commanding  the  Virginia  troops, 
twent}r-seven  years  of  age,  and  shining  with  the  lustre  of 
the  fame  recently  won  on  Braddock's  field,  when  first  the 
rich  young  widow  Custis  cast  upon  him  admiring  eyes. 
He  was  riding,  booted  and  spurred,  in  hot  haste,  from 
headquarters  to  the  capital  of  the  province,  where  he  was 
to  confer  with  the  Governor  concerning  the  defence  of 
the  frontiers.     Within  a  few  miles  of  his  destination,  he 


THE    WIFE   OF   GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  261 

was  pressed  by  a  friend  to  stay  to  dinner.  With  extreme 
reluctance  he  consented,  intending  to  mount  the  moment 
the  meal  was  over.  At  the  table  he  met  the  widow,  and 
was  captivated.  The  horses  were  pawing  at  the  door, 
but  the  young  Colonel  came  not  forth.  The  afternoon 
flew  by,  yet  he  came  not.  Evening  drew  on,  the  horses 
were  taken  back  to  the  stable ;  Colonel  Washington  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  stop  all  night.  It  was  not  till  the 
next  morning  that  he  rode  away. 

Within  a  year  they  were  married  at  the  "  White  House," 
which  was  her  home,  and  they  took  up  their  abode  at 
Mount  Vernon  soon  after.  Her  first  husband  had  left  a 
vast  estate  in  lands,  and  forty-five  thousand  pounds  in 
money,  one-third  of  which  was  hers,  and  now  became  the 
joint  property  of  Colonel  Washington  and  herself.  By 
their  marriage,  he  became  one  of  the  richest  men  in  Vir- 
ginia. She  gained  an  excellent  husband,  and  her  three 
children  a  wise  and  careful  father. 

If  any  lady  in  Virginia  could  claim  exemption  from  the 
cares  and  labors  of  a  household,  on  account  of  her  wealth 
and  social  standing,  it  was  Mrs.  Washington.  She  had 
been  an  heiress  and  a  beauty.  For  generations  her 
ancestors  had  been  persons  of  wealth  and  high  considera- 
tion. Her  first  husband  possessed  a  great  fortune,  and 
her  second  was  the  most  illustrious  personage  of  his  time. 
But  she  deemed  it  a  privilege  to  attend  to  the  details  of 
housekeeping,  and  regarded  the  days  when  she  was 
obliged  to  shine  in  the  drawing-room  as  "  lost." 


XX. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL  AND  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

THE  greatest  compliment  ever  paid  by  a  mt.n  to  a 
woman  was  that  which  Napoleon  Bonaparte  j  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  power,  paid  Madame  De  Stael,  in  exiling 
her  from  Paris. 

Here  was  a  man,  the  greatest  general  of  his  age,  at  the 
head  of  a  warlike  nation,  commanding  an  army  of  many 
hundred  thousand  men,  the  arbiter  of  Europe,  ai  d  the 
lord  of  the  world,  except  that  part  of  it  which  co.ild  be 
reached  and  overawed  by  the  English  navy ;  and  here 
was  a  woman,  then  of  no  great  fortune  or  celebrity, 
receiving  every  evening  a  circle  of  friends  in  a  modest 
drawing-room  at  Paris.  They  were  antagonists,  those 
two !  Both  were  foreigners — he  an  Italia n-Corsican,  she 
a  Swiss.  The  man  was  dazzling  and  intoxicating  France, 
while  using  her  for  purposes  of  his  own.  The  woman 
would  not  be  dazzled.  In  a  city  delirious  she  kept  her 
senses.  In  a  company  drunk,  she  remained  sober. 
Among  a  people  dreaming,  she  was  awake.  And,  gifted 
as  she  was  by  nature  with  an  excellent  mind,  a  humane 
heart,  and  an  eloquent  tongue,  she  had  power  to  waken 
and  restore  other  minds. 

Our  English-speaking  world  will  never  see  and  vividly 
feel  the  turpitude  of  this  man  Bonaparte,  as  Madame  De 
Stael  saw  and  felt  it,  until  his  lying  bulletins  and  brutal 
despatches  are  translated  into  our  language.  I  have 
spent  many  hours  and  days  in  examining  them,  for  they 
number    thirty   thousand,   and    fill   thirty-two    compact 

(262) 


MADAME  De  STAEL. 


MADAME    DE    STALL    AND    NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.       2G5 

volumes.  Let  me  glean  a  few  passages  from  the  bulle- 
tins dictated  by  his  own  mouth,  and  sent  from  the  battle- 
field to  be  published  in  the  Moniteur  at  Paris.  From  the 
field  of  Ulm,  he  sent  this  : 

"  For  two  days  the  rain  has  fallen  by  pailfuls,  and  every 
one  is  soaked.  The  soldiers  have  had  no  rations,  and  the 
mud  is  up  to  their  knees ;  but  the  sight  of  the  Emperor 
restores  their  gayety,  and  they  make  the  field  resound 
with  the  cry  of    Vive  V Empereur" 

Note  how  ingeniously  he  reconciles  Paris  to  the  idea  of 
a  French  army  floundering  in  the  mud  of  a  distant  land : 

"  They  report  also,  that  when  the  officers  expressed 
their  surprise  that  the  soldiers  should  forget  their  priva- 
tions in  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him,  he  replied, '  They  are 
right ;  for  it  is  to  spare  their  blood  that  I  make  them 
experience  such  great  fatigues.'  .  .  So  the  soldiers 
often  say,  '  The  Emperor  has  found  a  new  method  of 
making  war ;  he  uses  our  legs,  and  not  our  bayonets.' 
Five-sixths  of  the  army  have  not  fired  a  shot,  and  sorry 
enough  they  are  for  it." 

As  we  read  these  bulletins  we  cease  to  wonder  that 
France  should  have  been  willing,  year  after  year,  to  send 
to  these  distant  fields  of  conquest,  the  elite  of  her  youth. 
Never  was  a  nation  so  artfully  flattered.  Never  was  war 
exhibited  in  so  romantic  and  captivating  a  manner. 
Fancy  a  peasant,  worn  with  toil  and  privation,  reading 
such  a  passage  as  this,  or  hearing  it  read  at  his  village 
church  on  Sunday : 

"  No  contrast  is  more  striking  than  the  spirit  of  the 
French  army  and  that  of  the  Austrian.  In  the  French 
army,  heroism  is  carried  to  the  highest  point;  in  the 
Austrian,  the  discouragement  is  extreme.  The  Austrian 
soldier  is  paid  only  with  pieces  of  paper;  he  can  send 
nothing  home,  and  he  is  very  ill-treated.  The  French 
soldier  thinks  of  nothing  but  glory.     One  could  cite  a 


20 0      MADAME   DE   STAiiL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

thousand  such  incidents  as  this :  Brard,  private  of  the 
Seventy-sixth,  was  about  to  have  the  thigh  amputated ; 
ho  was  marked  for  death.  At  the  moment  when  the 
surgeon  was  about  to  begin,  he  stopped  him,  and  said,  '  I 
know  that  I  shall  not  survive ;  but  no  matter :  one  man 
the  less  will  not  hinder  the  Seventy-sixth  from  marching. 
The  first  three  ranks,  fix  bayonets  !     Charge! ' " 

Fancy,  I  say,  the  toiling  peasantry  of  France  played 
upon  in  this  way  by  the  greatest  master  in  the  art  of 
dazzling  a  susceptible  people  that  ever  lived.  Can  you 
wonder  that  they  should  have  come  to  regard  war  as  the 
proper  and  natural  employment  of  man,  the  delight  and 
glory  of  generous  minds,  and  hold  peaceful  industry  in 
contempt  ?  I  wish  there  were  room  to  insert  here  a 
translation  of  a  bulletin  in  which  Napoleon  communicates 
to  France  many  details  of  the  most  brilliant  of  his 
victories — Austerlitz.  It  is  artful  in  the  highest  degree, 
and  exhibits  Napoleon  in  a  light  so  romantic  and  attract- 
ive, that  it  would  conciliate  a  reader  of  the  present  day, 
if  he  were  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  every  line  of  this 
long  bulletin  is  of  Napoleon's  own  composition.  Here  is 
one  of  its  anecdotes  : 

"  An  incident  which  does  honor  to  the  enemy  must  not 
be  omitted.  The  officer  in  command  of  the  artillery  of 
the  Russian  Imperial  Guard  lost  his  guns  in  the  battle. 
Meeting  the  Emperor,  he  said,  '  Sire,  have  me  shot ;  I 
have  lost  my  guns  ! '  The  Emperor  replied,  'Young  man, 
I  appreciate  your  tears.  But  one  can  be  beaten  by  my 
army,  and  yet  have  some  claims  to  glory  ! '  " 

The  following  passages  are  from  the  same  bulletin  : 

"  Till  late  at  night  the  Emperor  rode  over  the  field  of 
battle  superintending  the  removal  of  the  wounded — 
spectacle  of  horror,  if  there  ever  was  one :  Mounted 
upon  swift  horses,  he  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  light- 
ning, and  nothing  was  more  touching  than  to  see  those 


MADAME   DE    STAEL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE.      267 

brave  men  recognize  him.  Some  forgot  their  sufferings 
and  said,  '  Any  way,  is  the  victory  perfectly  assured  ? ' 
Others  said,  '  I  have  suffered  for  eight  hours,  and  have 
had  no  succor  since  the  beginning  of  the  battle ;  but  I 
have  done  my  duty.'  Others  cried,  '  You  ought  to  be 
content  with  your  soldiers  to-day.'  To  every  wounded 
soldier  the  Emperor  left  a  guard,  who  caused  him  to  be 
transported  to  the  ambulances.  Horrible  to  say,  forty- 
eight  hours  after  the  battle  there  were  still  a  great 
number  of  the  Russian  wounded  who  had  not  been 
attended  to.  All  the  French  wounded  had  attention 
before  night." 

No  one  can  coolly  read  this  passage  in  the  original 
without  discerning  its  fictitious  character.  First  we  have 
the  Emperor,  during  several  hours  of  the  night  {pendant 
plusieurs  heures  de  la  nuif),  going  over  the  field  of  battle, 
and  causing  the  wounded  to  be  removed ;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  passage,  we  learn  that  all  the  French  wounded 
had  surgical  attention  before  night  (avant  la  nuif).  It  is 
in  the  night,  too,  that  the  Emperor  "  passes  like  a  flash," 
and  yet  he  hears  the  wounded  soldiers  utter  the  words 
quoted  above. 

He  loves  to  exhibit  himself  to  the  Parisians  as  the 
object  of  the  envy  and  the  admiration  of  crowned  heads 
and  other  distinguished  persons.  He  puts  the  following 
words  into  the  mouth  of  a  Russian  Prince  when  he  con- 
versed with  one  of  the  French  generals  : 

"  '  Tell  vour  master,'  cried  this  Prince,  '  that  I  am  q-oimr 
home  ;  that  he  performed  miracles  yesterday  ;  that  the 
battle  has  increased  my  admiration  for  him ;  that  he  is 
the  Predestined  of  Heaven ;  that  a  hundred  years  must 
pass  before  my  army  equals  his. ' " 

He  also  reports  a  conversation  with  the  Emperor  of 
Russia  and  the  French  General  Savary. 

" '  Y  ou   were  inferior  to   me   in  numbers,'   said  the 


208      MADAME   DE   STAEL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

Emperor  of  Russia,  "  and  yet  you  were  superior  at  every 
point  of  attack.' 

" '  Sire,'  replied  General  Savary, ( that  is  the  art  of  war 
and  the  fruit  of  fifteen  years  of  glory.  It  was  the  fortieth 
battle  which  the  Emperor  has  directed.' 

'"That  is  true,'  responded  the  Emperor  of  Russia; 
'  he  is  a  great  warrior.  For  my  part,  it  was  the  first  time 
that  1  ever  saw  fire.  I  have  never  had  the  pretension  to 
measure  myself  with  him.' 

" '  Sire,  said  Savary,  '  when  you  have  had  his  expe- 
rience, you  will  surpass  him  perhaps.' 

"  '  I  am  going  to  back  my  capital,'  said  the  Emperor  of 
Russia  ;  '  I  came  to  the  succor  of  the  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many ;  he  tells  me  he  has  had  enough,  and  I  have  had 
enough  too.' " 

How  intoxicating  such  passages  as  these  to  national 
vanity !  No  doubt,  too,  those  little  notes  which  he  took 
care  to  write  to  Josephine  after  every  battle,  were  handed 
about  the  palace,  and  repeated  in  the  drawing-rooms  of 
Paris.  "  My  dear,"  he  wrote  in  July,  1807,  "  the  Queen 
of  Prussia  dined  with  me  yesterday.  I  had  to  defend 
myself,  for  she  wished  to  induce  me  to  make  some  further 
concessions  to  her  husband.  But  I  was  gallant,  and  did 
not  depart  from  my  policy." 

When  disaster  came,  he  knew  how  to  communicate  it 
in  such  a  way  that  the  news  had  the  effect  to  rouse  and 
inspire,  rather  than  discourage.  Nor  did  he  hesitate,  at 
critical  moments,  to  deceive.  His  explanation  of  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  seems  to  be  a  case  in  point.  He  says 
positively  that  "the  battle  was  gained;  we  held  all  the 
positions  which  the  enemy  occupied  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  action,"  and  "  successes  still  greater  were 
assured  for  the  next  day.  But,"  he  adds,  "  all  was  lost 
by  a  moment  of  panic  terror" 

Such  are  the  famous  bulletins  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 


MADAME   DE    STAEL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE.      269 

He  says  himself  that  the  secret  of  success  in  war  is 
always  to  have  the  greatest  force  at  the  point  of  contact. 
"Would  you  know  how  it  was  that  Napoleon  contrived  to 
have  the  greatest  force  at  the  point  of  contact  ?  Read 
the  bulletins  which,  with  such  consummate  skill,  he  flat- 
tered, dazzled,  bewildered,  and  maddened  the  people  of 
France. 

Some  years  ago,  when  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  turned 
toward  Prussia  and  France,  and  many  were  disposed  to 
censure  the  severe  terms  imposed  by  the  victor,  I  examined 
these  despatches  to  learn  how  Napoleon  treated  Prussia 
when  that  kingdom  lay  prostrate  and  helpless  before  him 
after  the  battle  of  Jena.  The  battle  of  Jena  was  fought 
October  14,  1S06.  On  the  very  next  day  the  Emperor 
issued  a  decree,  imposing  a  heavy  contribution  in  money 
upon  every  German  state  and  city  that  had  sided  with 
Prussia  in  the  war.  Prussia  herself  was  required  to 
furnish  one  hundred  millions  of  francs,  of  which  Berlin 
was  to  pay  ten  million?  ;  Saxony  had  to  pay  twenty- 
five  millions;  Hesse-Cassel,  six  millions;  the  Duke  of 
Brunswick,  five  millions  and  a  half;  Weimar,  two 
millions  two  hundred  thousand.  From  eighteen  states 
and  cities,  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  millions 
four  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  francs  was  extorted. 
This  to  begin  with.  Of  course,  all  the  treasure  belonging 
to  the  king  of  Prussia,  and  all  the  war  material  of  the 
kingdom  were  seized  at  once. 

Three  days  after  the  battle,  the  King  of  Prussia  wrote 
to  Napoleon,  asking  an  armistice.  The  Emperor  refused 
it,  on  the  ground  that  a  suspension  of  arms  would  give 
time  for  the  Russian  armies  to  arrive  and  renew  (ho 
struggle  within  the  Prussian  territories,  "  which,''  added, 
Napoleon,  "  would  be  too  contrary  to  my  interests  to 
permit." 

A  few  days  after,  the  students  of  the  University  of 


270      MADAME   DE   STALL   AND   NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE. 

Ilallc  made  some  patriotic  demonstrations.  The  Emperor 
issued  the  following  order,  addressed  to  his  chief  of  staff, 
Marshal  Berthier : 

"  My  Cousin  :  Give  orders  that  the  University  of  Halle 
be  closed,  and  that  the  students  set  out  for  their  homes 
within  twenty-four  hours.  If  any  are  found  in  the  city 
to-morrow  they  will  be  imprisoned,  to  prevent  the  con- 
sequences of  the  bad  spirit  which  has  been  inculcated  at 
this  University." 

When  the  King  of  Prussia  received  the  communication 
from  Napoleon  refusing  the  armistice,  he  sent- a  nobleman 
of  his  court  upon  an  embassy  to  the  Emperor.  After 
mentioning  this  circumstance  in  a  letter  to  Talleyrand, 
the  haughty  conqueror  adds : 

"  I  have  made  him  wait  at  the  outposts,  and  1  have 
sent  Duroc  to  see  what  he  wants.  I  am  awaiting  Duroc's 
return.  The  King  appears  entirely  willing  to  come  to 
terms.  I  shall  accommodate  him,  but  that  will  not  hinder 
me  from  going  to  Berlin." 

The  next  order  decrees  that  the  Duchy  of  Brunswick 
"  shall  be  treated  in  all  respects  as  a  conquered  country  " 
— the  ducal  arms  taken  down  everywhere,  the  treasure 
seized,  and  the  ducal  officers  sent  into  France.  Nine  days 
after  the  battle  appeared  the  formal  decree  in  which 
the  entire  kingdom  of  Prussia  and  all  its  allied  States 
were  divided  into  live  departments,  each  under  the  govern- 
ment of  a  French  General,  and  all  authority  to  be  exer- 
cised by  them  through  French  officials.  Prussia  was 
placed  under  military  law,  and  held  absolutely  at  the 
mercy  of  the  conquerer.  For  example,  in  the  special 
orders  relating  to  the  city  of  Dresden,  the  capital  of 
Saxony,  one  of  the  allies  of  Prussia,  we  find  such  sen- 
tences as  these  : 

"  All  the  stores  of  salt,  shoes,  cloth,  cavalry  harness, 
munitions  of  war,  and  cavalry  horses  will  belongto  the 


MADAME    DE    STAEL    AND    NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.       271 

French  army,  as  war  material  of  which  the  Elector  has 
no  need.  .  .  .  Use  as  many  forms,  as  many  ceremonies, 
as  many  politenesses,  as  yon  please;  but  the  main  point 
is,  to  take  possession  of  everything,  especially  war  material, 
under  pretext  that  the  Elector  has  no  longer  need  of  such 
things." 

The  only  offence  of  the  Elector  of  Saxony  was,  that  in 
a  war  which  threatened  the  independence  of  every  German 
State,  he  had  sided  with  the  power  with  which  he  was 
most  intimately  bound.  Nine  days  after  the  battle  of 
Jena,  Napoleon  issued  an  order  for  taking  possession  of 
Berlin,  preparatory  to  his  own  formal  entry.  The  follow- 
ing passage  occurs  in  this  order: 

"  As  his  Majesty  expects  to  make  his  entry  into  Ber- 
lin, you  can  provisionally  receive  the  keys.  But  give  the 
magistrates  to  understand,  that  they  will  not  the  less 
place  them  in  the  hands  of  the  Emperor,  when  he  shall 
make  his  entry.  But  you  are  to  exact,  that  the  magis- 
trates and  chief  men  of  the  city  shall  come  to  receive  you 
at  t lie  city  gates,  with  all  suitable  forms." 

Prussia,  in  fact,  was  spared  neither  penalty  nor  humilia- 
tion. In  relating  these  scenes,  in  the  bulletins  pub- 
lished in  the  3Ionitear  for  the  entertainment  of  Paris, 
the  Emperor  took  a  tone  of  lightness  and  humor ;  telling 
comic  anecdotes  and  describing  current  caricatures,  very 
much  in  the  style  of  "Our  Own  Correspondent,"  when,  in 
the  intervals  of  conflict,  he  relates  the  gossip  of  the  camp. 
He  tells  the  Parisians  how  pleasant  he  found  the  royal 
palaces  of  Prussia,  particularly  Potsdam  ;  describing  the 
apartments  of  the  great  Frederick,  and  making  merry 
upon  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  "  who  left  the  care  of  her 
household,  and  the  grave  business  of  the  toilet,  to  mingle 
in  affairs  of  state,  to  mislead  the  King,  and  to  communi- 
cate in  every  direction  the  fire  of  which  she  was  herself 
possessed."     Nothing  softened  this  conqueror,  so  gay  and 


272      MADAME   DE   STAEL   AND    NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

so  stern.  In  one  bulletin,  sent  from  Potsdam,  lie  holds 
this  language : 

"  The  Emperor  has  been  to  see  the  tomb  of  the  great 
Frederick.  The  remains  of  that  great  man  are  inclosed 
in  a  wooden  coffin,  covered  with  copper,  placed  in  a  tomb 
without  ornaments,  without  trophies,  without  any  objects 
which  recall  the  great  actions  which  he  performed.  The 
Emperor  has  made  a  present  to  the  Hotel  des  Invalidcs, 
at  Paris,  of  Frederick's  sword,  his  order  of  the  Black 
Eagle,  his  general's  sash,  as  well  as  of  the  flags  borne  by 
his  guard  in  the  Seven  Years'  War." 

After  thus  despoiling  Prussia,  of  her  most  cherished 
and  sacred  treasures,  he  adds  that  the  "  old  soldiers  of  the 
army  will  receive  with  a  religious  respect  everything  that 
belonged  to  one  of  the  first  captains  of  whom  history 
preserves  the  remembrance."  What  a  thief !  what  an 
actor!  How  much  did  he  respect  those  relics?  In  the 
same  bulletin  he  amuses  the  Parisians  by  telling  a  ridicu- 
lous story  of  Lord  Morpeth,  the  British  Ambassador,  who, 
he  says,  was  "  near  enough  to  the  field  of  Jena  to  hear 
the  cannons."  When  news  was  brought  him  that  the 
battle  was  lost,  though  he  was  eighteen  miles  from  the 
scene,  "  he  took  to  his  heels,"  says  Napoleon,  "  crying 
out,  '  I  must  not  be  taken.'  He  offered  as  much  as  sixty 
guineas  for  a  horse ;  got  one  at  last,  and  saved  himself." 

October  the  twenty-seventh,  the  Emperor,  surrounded 
by  his  marshals,  his  magnificent  staff,  and  the  leading 
officers  of  his  court,  made  what  he  styles  his  entrSe 
solennelle  into  Berlin,  followed  by  the  Imperial  foot  guard, 
and  by  a  splendid  body  of  horsemen  and  grenadiers. 
Alighting  at  the  royal  palace  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  after  having  received  at  the  gates  the  keys  of 
the  city,  he  held  a  grand  reception.  He  treated  the  city, 
in  all  respects,  as  the  spoil  of  war ;  paying  his  troops 
from   the  city  treasury,  taking   all  the  wine  from   the 


MADAME    DE    STAEL   AND    NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.      273 

cellars,  public  and  private,  for  the  supply  of  his  various 
armies,  assigning  a  half  bottle  of  wine  a  day  for  each 
soldier  of  the  two  corps  who  had  particularly  distin- 
guished themselves  at  the  battle  of  Jena.  The  nobility 
had  abandoned  their  houses  at  his  approach.  He  ordered 
all  the  mattresses  and  furniture  to  be  taken  from  their 
houses  which  might  be  required  for  the  comfort  of  his 
officers.  He  ordered  also,  that  the  city  should  furnish,  at 
once,  the  cloth  for  a  hundred  thousand  uniforms,  a  hun- 
dred thousand  pairs  of  shoes,  and  a  hundred  thousand 
caps. 

"  My  intention  is,"  this  order  concluded,  "  that  Berlin 
should  furnish  me  abundantly  all  that  my  army  needs, 
and  that  nothing  is  to  be  considered  except  that  my  soldiers 
should  have  an  abundance  of  everything  they  require." 

At  the  same  time  he  assigned  the  abandoned  houses  of 
the  nobility  to  his  principal  officers.  It  is  indeed  difficult. 
in  the  space  to  which  I  am  restricted,  to  convey  to  the 
reader  an  adequate  idea  of  the  relentless  vigilance  with 
which  this  conqueror  despoiled  the  German  States  of  all 
that  they  possessed  which  could  be  useful  to  him.  To 
one  General  he  writes  : 

"  They  tell  me  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  wine  at 
Stettin.  Take  all  of  it,  though  there  should  be  twenty 
millions'  worth." 

Another,  he  orders  to  raise  a  German  corps  for  service 
in  Italy,  because,  as  he  explains,  he  wants  "  to  get  rid  of 
those  soldiers."    To  Marshal  Ney  he  writes,  in  November  : 

"  Try  your  best  to  prevent  the  treasures  in  Magdeburg 
from  being  carried  off.  Have  every  baggage  wagon  and 
powder  cart  examined.  The  treasure  chests  of  the  regi- 
ments are  in  Magdeburg ;  so  are  the  army  chests,  and  the 
large  treasures  belonging  to  the  Prince.  Lay  hands  upon 
everything." 

A  hundred  such  sentences  as  these  could  be  gleaned 


274      MADAME    DE    STAEL    AND    NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE. 

from  a  single  volume  of  his  letters  of  this  period.  From 
the  fourteenth  of  October,  1806,  to  the  ninth  of  July, 
1807,  Napoleon  never  relaxed  his  clutch  upon  the  capital 
and  dominions  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  On  the  ninth  of 
July  he  granted  peace  to  King  Frederick  William,  on 
terms  more  severe,  perhaps,  than  a  conqueror  has  ever 
imposed  upon  a  powerful  state.  The  King  was  obliged 
to  surrender  more  than  half  of  his  kingdom,  and  he  was- 
informed  that  the  portion  he  retained  was  conceded  to 
him  only  out  of  regard  to  the  wishes  of  the  Emperor  of 
Russia.  Napoleon,  in  fact,  in  the  "  Note  "  giving  an  out- 
line of  the  terms  of  peace  which  he  was  prepared  to  grant, 
expressly  says  that  it  is  the  "  protection  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander  which  causes  the  King  of  Prussia  to  reenter 
into  the  possession  of  a  portion  of  his  states."  Two 
other  slices  were  soon  after  severed  from  the  Prussian 
dominions — the  Duchy  of  Warsaw  and  the  Duchy  of 
Danzig;  and  the  whole  amount  of  money  contributions 
wrung  from  the  prostrate  kingdom  was  four  hundred  and 
fifty  million  of  francs.  Prussia  was  further  compelled  to 
engage  to  pay  for  French  garrisons  in  some  of  its  for- 
tresses, and  to  furnish  a  contingent  of  troops  to  the 
Emperor  in  all  future  wars. 

This  was  the  man  whom  Madame  de  Stael  saw  and 
understood  in  1805,  as  well  as  we  can  in  1883.  She  had 
known  him  when  he  figured  as  a  vain  young  soldier  of 
the  Republic,  and  discerned  his  true  character  even  then. 
There  was  danger  in  such  a  woman.  The  conqueror 
felt  it,  and  owned  himself  unable  to  cope  with  her  by 
sending  her  to  reside  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from 
Paris !  If  she  ventured  to  approach  nearer,  he  wrote 
with  his  own  hand  (as  we  see  in  his  published  correspond- 
ence,) an  order  to  his  chief  of  police  to  make  her  keep 
her  distance.  "  That  she  crow,"  he  styles  her  in  one  of 
these  fierce  notes.     "  That  bird  of  evil  omen,"  he  calls 


MADAME    DE    STAhL    AND    NAPOLEON    BONArARTE.      2lO 

her  in  another.  In  another  he  says  that  "  her  approach 
bodes  mischief,"  and  he  will  not  have  her  on  French  soil. 
In  another,  alluding  to  her  father,  M.  Neckar,  the  banker 
and  financier,  he  winds  up  an  angry  order  by  saying : 
"  that  foreign  family  have  clone  mischief  enough  in 
France  already."  How  honorable  to  this  lady,  the  ran- 
corous hostility  of  such  a  man  in  such  a  place. 

Banished  from  the  city  which  she  loved  above  all  other 
places  in  the  world,  she  flew  to  literature  as  a  resource 
against  the  tedium  of  exile.  Corinne,  which  contained 
the  results  of  an  Italian  tour,  made  her  famous.  Next, 
she  turned  her  long  residence  in  Germany  to  account  by 
writing  a  work  upon  that  country,  which  has  since  taken 
its  place  as  one  of  the  classics  of  French  literature.  In 
its  composition  she  most  scrupulously  avoided  writing  a 
sentence,  a  phrase,  a  word,  an  allusion  which  the  police 
at  Paris  could  construe  in  a  sense  hostile  to  the  imperial 
government.  Corinne  had  been  allowed  to  appear ;  why 
not  X'  Allemagnc  ? 

The  manuscript  being  complete,  she  sent  it  for  publica- 
tion to  the  house  in  Paris  that  had  published  her  Corinne, 
some  years  before.  A  few  days  after  a  decree  was  made 
public  to  the  effect  that  no  work  could  thenceforth  be 
printed  in  France  until  it  had  been  examined  by  censors. 
I  notice  in  the  Napoleon  Correspondence  that  the  emperor 
scolded  the  minister  of  police  for  employing  in  this 
decree  the  odious  word  censeurs,  because  it  savored  of  the 
tyranny  of  the  Bourbon  kings.  He  did  not  like  the  zvord, 
but  events  soon  showed  that  he  approved  the  thing. 

The  work  was  submitted  to  the  censors,  and  the  author 
came  to  a  place  forty  leagues  from  Paris  to  make  altera- 
tions and  read  the  proofs.  The  manuscript  was  read  with 
the  closest  attention,  but  nothing  was  found  objectionable 
in  it  except  here  and  there  a  sentence  or  a  phrase.  To 
afford  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  necessary  timidity  of 


27G      MADAME   DE   STAiiL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

despots,  I  will  give  a  few  of  the  sentences  ordered  to  be 
suppressed.  Speaking  of  the  reforms  instituted  by  the 
Emperor  Joseph  of  Austria,  Madame  de  Stael  had  ven- 
tured this  terrible  observation : 

"  But  after  his  death,  nothing  remained  of  what  he 
had  established ;  since  nothing  endures  except  what 
comes  progressively." 

The  first  half  of  this  sentence  she  was  required  to  cut 
out.  The  reader  will  not  be  at  a  loss  to  guess  why.  It 
was  just  four  years  after,  that  the  French  empire,  which 
never  seemed  so  strong  as  in  1810,  proved  the  truth  of 
the  latter  half,  which  was  allowed  to  stand.  The  sen- 
tence following  excited  the  ire  of  the  censors : 

"  A  witty  woman  has  remarked  that,  of  all  places  in 
the  world,  Paris  is  the  one  where  a  person  can  best  do 
without  happiness." 

The  gentleman  who  marked  this  sentence  for  suppres- 
sion condescended  to  give  a  reason  for  so  doing.  Under 
the  reign  of  the  emperor,  he  said,  there  was  "  so  much 
happiness  at  Paris  that  no  one  need  do  without  it."  In 
discoursing  upon  Frederick  the  Great,  she  said,  that  a 
powerful  man,  so  long  as  he  lived,  could  hold  together 
the  most  discordant  elements ;  "  but  at  his  death,  they 
separate."  The  last  phrase  was  suppressed,  the  emperor 
having  just  taken  an  important  step  to  prevent  the  separa- 
tion of  discordant  elements  at  his  death.  He  had  divorced 
Josephine,  and  married  Marie-Louise. 

She  denounced  the  partition  of  Poland,  and  added  this 
comment : 

"It  can  never  be  expected  that  subjects  thus  obtained, 
will  be  faithful  to  the  trickster  who  calls  himself  their 
sovereign." 

Suppressed  of  course.  The  following  also  was  sum- 
marily cut : 

"Good  taste  in  literature  is, in  some  respects,  like  order 


MADAME    DE    STAEL    AND    NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.      277 

under  despotism;  it  concerns  us  to  examine  at  what  price 
it  is  purchased.1' 

The  longest  passage  suppressed  was  one  in  which  sliG- 
maintained  that  a  public  man  should  never  retain  his 
place  for  an  instant,  when  he  could  no  longer  hold  it  with 
honor. 

"  Let  him  but  begin  to  negotiate  with  circumstances 
and  all  is  lost ;  for  there  is  no  one  who  has  not  circum- 
stances. Some  men  have  a  wife,  children,  nephews,  fo> 
whom  a  fortune  is  necessary.  Others  need  activity 
occupation,  and  possess  I  know  not  how  many  virtues, 
which  all  conduce  to  the  necessity  of  having  a  place,  with 
money  and  power  attached  to  it." 

This  passage,  Madame  De  Stael  records,  provoked  the 
censors  to  extreme  ill-humor.  They  said  that,  if  these 
remarks  were  true,  no  man  could  obtain,  nor  even  ask,  a 
place.  Out  with  it  all !  The  paragraph,  however,  that 
kindled  their  highest  indignation,  was  a  little  burst  of 
eloquence  which  closed  the  book  : 

"  O,  France !  land  of  glory  and  love  !  if  ever  enthusiasm 
should  be  extinguished  upon  thy  soil — if  ever  cold  calcula 
tion  should  dispose  of  everything,  and  reasoning  alone 
inspire  contempt  of  peril — what  would  avail  thy  beautiful 
sky,  thy  genius  so  brilliant,  thy  nature  so  affluent  ?  An 
active  intelligence  and  a  wise  impetuosity  would  indeed 
render  thee  master  of  the  world  ;  but  thou  wouldst  leave 
upon  it  only  the  trace  of  sand-torrents,  terrible  as  the 
waves,  arid  as  the  desert !  " 

This,  too,  was  suppressed.  The  publisher  having  sub- 
mitted to  every  exaction  of  the  censors,  supposed  it  was 
safe  to  proceed.  The  work  was  put  in  type,  and  ten 
thousand  copies  were  printed.  Suddenly  the  printing 
office  was  surrounded  by  soldiers,  and  an  officer  entered, 
who  announced  that  he  was  ordered  to  destroy  every 
copy.     He  obeyed  the  order,  and,  it  is  said,  died  of  fatigue 


278   MADAME  DE  STAtL  AND  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

in  doing  it.  The  spoiled  sheets  were  sold  to  a  paper- 
maker,  and  the  proceeds  of  the  sale — about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  dollars — were  brought  to  the  publisher ;  and 
this  was  the  only  compensation  he  ever  received.  The 
author,  in  the  meantime,  was  ordered  to  leave  France 
within  twenty-four  hours.  "Twenty-four  hours!"  It 
was  the  time  allowed  to  conscripts  to  prepare  for  march- 
ing. Having  with  her  neither  money  nor  vehicle,  she 
wrote  to  the  minister  asking  for  eight  days.  The  request 
was  granted ;  but,  in  granting  it,  the  minister  of  police 
filled  his  letter  with  polite  insolence.  He  told  her  that, 
in  his  opinion,  the  air  of  France  did  not  agree  with  her, 
and  that  the  French  people  were  not  reduced  to  seek  for 
models  among  the  people  she  had  held  up  to  admiration 
in  her  work  upon  Germany.  He  was  sorry  for  the 
publisher's  loss  ;  but  "It  was  not  possible  to  let  the  work 
appear."  At  the  same  time,  he  forbade  her  to  repair  to 
any  of  the  northern  seaports,  whence  she  could  escape 
into  England. 

It  cost  her  nearly  two  years  of  effort  before  she 
succeeded  in  reaching  England,  so  completely  was  Napo- 
leon master  of  the  continent.  After  the  expulsion  of  the 
tyrant  she  hastened  to  Paris,  where  she  remained  during 
the  Hundred  Days  unmolested.  She  spent  the  closing 
years  of  her  busy  life  in  Switzerland,  her  native  country, 
where  she  was  secretly  married  to  a  young  officer.  She 
veiled  this  second  marriage  in  secrecy  because  she  was 
unwilling  to  change  a  name  to  which  her  works  and  her 
persecutions  had  given  celebrity.  Her  first  marriage — 
to  the  Swedish  ambassador,  Baron  de  Stael-Holstein — 
occurred  when  she  was  twenty.  It  was  a  marriage  of 
convenience,  not  of  affection,  and  gave  her  little  happi- 
ness.    Her  tombstone  bears  a  curious  inscription : 

"  IIlC  TANDEM  QTTEISCIT  QUAE  NUNQUAM  QUIEVIT." 

"  Here  rests  one  who  never  rested."     She  was  among 


MADAME   DE   STALL   AND   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE.      279 

the  greatest  of  her  sex.  Corinne,  which  has  long  heen 
used  in  schools  as  a  French  reading-book,  is  not  excellent, 
nor  even  tolerable,  as  a  work  of  art;  but  her  writings 
abound  in  passages  of  admirable  sense  expressed  in 
admirable  words.  Her  book  upon  Germany,  with  all  the 
suppressed  passages  marked,  was  reprinted  in  Paris  as 
recently  as  1867  ;  and  about  the  same  time  was  completed 
the  publication  of  ths  works  of  her  antagonist,  who  held 
her  in  such  well  grounded  terror. 


XXL 

THE  WIFE  OF  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 

YOU  may  read  some  large  books  about  Frederick  IT, 
King  of  Prussia,  without  knowing  that  he  had  a 
wife.  You  might  have  been  his  guest  for  three  months, 
and  neither  have  seen  nor  heard  of  her.  And  yet,  strange 
to  say,  they  had  for  one  another  a  good  deal  of  regard, 
which  increased  from  year  to  year,  and  ripened  at  last 
into  a  kind  of  affectionate  respect. 

The  truth  is  that  the  Princess  Elizabeth  Christine  of 
Brunswick  was  forced  upon  Frederick  by  his  tyrannical 
old  father,  and  unfortunately  she  was  precisely  the  kind 
of  woman  that  he  most  disliked.  When  he  learned  that 
his  father  was  looking  about  among  the  princely  houses  of 
Germany  to  find  a  wife  for  him,  he  wrote  to  a  minister 
who  was  much  in  the  King's  confidence  that  he  did  not 
much  care  what  sort  of  wife  his  father  chose  for  him,  if 
only  she  were  not  stupid,  or  awkward  in  her  manners. 
Now,  the  Princess  Elizabeth  Christine  appeared  at  first  to 
be  a  woman  of  just  that  kind,  and  the  Prince  heard,  too, 
that  she  was  given  to  pouting.  It  was  in  vain  for  the 
young  man  to  remonstrate.  Indeed,  he  knew  that  it  was 
of  no  use  to  say  a  word  to  his  father,  but  he  endeavored 
to  prevail  upon  the  favorites  and  confidants  of  the  King 
to  use  their  influence  to  prevent  the  marriage. 

It  was  all  in  vain,  however.  He  was  obliged  to  have 
her,  and  he  did  have  her.  When  it  was  all  concluded 
and  settled,  he  was  allowed  to  see  the  young  lady,  then 
seventeen  years  of  age.  In  order  to  reconcile  him  to  his 
fate,  care  had  been  taken  to  describe  her  to  him  as  being 

(280) 


WIFE  OF  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


WIFE  OF  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.         283 

less  pleasing  than  she  really  was,  so  that  when  he  saw 
her  lie  might  have  an  agreeable  surprise.  These  tactics 
had  some  success.  He  afterwards  confessed  that  he  was 
somewhat  agreeably  disappointed  in  her  appearance,  and 
only  pretended  to  dislike  her  very  much  in  order  to  make 
a  merit  with  his  father  of  his  obedience  in  marrying  her. 

The  betrothal,  in  March,  1732,  was  a  brilliant  scene. 
All  the  lords  and  ladies  of  the  court  of  Prussia  were 
assembled  in  a  magnificent  apartment,  where  they  formed 
a  large  semicircle,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Prussia,  and  the  youthful  pair  who  were  to 
pledge  their  word  of  betrothal.  The  usual  question  was 
proposed,  whether  they  were  of  the  same  mind  as  their 
parents  in  wishing  to  be  engaged  to  one  another.  Both 
answered,  Yes. 

"  Pledge  yourselves  then  by  exchange  of  rings,"  said 
the  bluff  and  red-faced  Prussian  King. 

The  rings  were  exchanged.  The  King  kissed  them 
both.  Then  the  Queen  kissed  them,  and  there  was  the 
usual  kissing  all  about  the  circle.  A  few  months  after 
this  the  marriage  took  place ;  the  Prince  pretending  to 
the  last  to  hold  his  bride  in  utter  detestation.  A  cruel 
scene  which  occurred  in  the  palace  two  days  after,  when 
the  Prince  introduced  his  bride  to  his  favorite  sister, 
Wilhelmina,  will  serve  to  show  what  sort  of  a  marriage 
this  was.  When  the  three  were  alone  together  Frederick 
said  to  his  wife  : 

'"  This  is  a  sister  I  adore,  and  am  obliged  to  beyond 
measure.  She  lias  had  the  goodness  to  promise  me  that 
she  will  take  care  of  you  and  help  you  with  her  good 
counsel.  I  wish  you  to  respect  her  beyond  even  the 
King  and  Queen,  and  not  to  take  the  least  step  without 
her  advice.     Do  you  understand  ?" 

Wilhelmina  embraced  the  timid  and  anxious  bride,  still 
very  immature  and  scarcely  eighteen  years  of  age.     She 


284  WIFE    OP    FREDERICK    THE   GREAT. 

stood  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  spoke  not  a 
single  word,  nor  made  any  sign  either  of  understanding 
or  compliance.  As  her  servants  had  not  yet  arrived, 
the  Princess  Wilhelmina  herself  powdered  her  hair  and 
arranged  her  dress  a  little,  caressing  her  at  the  same  time 
with  every  mark  of  tenderness.  Still  she  remained  silent, 
and  did  not  return  the  repeated  caresses  bestowed  upon 
her.  Her  husband,  at  length,  grew  impatient,  and  said 
brutally : 

"  Plague  take  the  blockhead  !  Thank  my  sister,  then  ! " 
Upon  hearing  this,  she  made  a  ceremonious  courtesy, 
such  as  governesses  in  the  old  time  used  to  teach.  This 
apparent  stolidity  was  certainly  unfortunate.  She  was  by 
no  means  an  ill-looking  young  lady.  Her  figure  was  not 
very  good,  and  she  had  a  slight  stoop  in  the  shoulders 
which  gave  her  an  awkward  appearance.  On  the  other 
hand,  her  complexion  was  of  dazzling  whiteness,  relieved 
by  a  beautiful  color  in  the  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  pale 
blue,  and  expressed  much  bland  benignity,  but  not  the 
slightest  activity  of  intellect.  All  her  features  were  small 
and  dainty,  resembling  those  of  a  child  twelve  years  of 
age,  and  she  had  a  great  abundance  of  blonde  curling 
locks.  If  her  teeth  had  not  been  extremely  bad,  she 
would  have  looked  like  a  very  pretty,  good-tempered,  dull 
child. 

Such  was  the  bride  forced  upon  a  prince  who,  of  all  the 
young  men  of  his  time,  was  most  dotingly  fond  of  intel- 
lectual gifts.  His  greatest  ambition  at  that  period  was 
to  improve  his  mind,  and  exercise  his  mental  powers. 
When  he  went  to  housekeeping,  soon  after  his  marriage, 
he  had  a  tower  built  for  various  kinds  of  study.  In  the 
lower  story  was  his  library,  to  which  he  continually  added, 
and  which  was  the  delight  of  his  life.  Here  he  wrote 
thousands  of  verses  in  the  French  language,  and  com- 
posed a  work,  afterwards  published,  i:ron  the  duty  of  a 


WIFE   OP  FREDERICK   THE   GREAT.  285 

prince  to  govern  with  justice,  and  without  any  of  the  dis- 
honest devices  of  king-craft.  In  the  story  above  was  a 
room  in  which  he  had  such  philosophical  apparatus  as 
had  then  been  invented  ;  a  thermometer,  a  very  rare  and 
costly  instrument  in  1735;  an  air-pump,  with  which  he 
performed  the  usual  experiments,  and  invented  some  of 
his  own. 

Besides  these  liberal  studies,  he  was  an  enthusiastic  and 
skillful  musician.  His  favorite  instrument  was  the  flute, 
upon  which  lie  played  very  well;  not  merely  very  well 
for  a  Prince,  but  so  well  that  he  could  hold  his  own  in  an 
orchestra  of  picked  performers.  All  his  companions  were 
chosen  with  reference  to  these  dominant  tastes.  He  was 
surrounded,  whenever  he  was  at  leisure,  by  poets,  painters, 
philosophers,  musicians,  and  musical  composers.  What 
should  he  do  with  this  amiable  and  speechless  wax-doll, 
with  her  flaxen  curls,  her  pink  cheeks,  and  her  large  blue 
eyes  ? 

After  the  first  three  or  four  years,  he  had  scarcely  any 
association  with  her,  except,  once  or  twice  a  week,  a  short 
ceremonious  visit ;  and  when  he  was  absent  in  war  time, 
he  would  write  her  three  or  four  lines  occasionally  to  give 
her  information  of  a  victory,  or  of  the  death  of  one  of 
her  relations.  When  they  had  been  married  seven  years, 
Frederick  succeeded  to  the  throne.  Scarcely  had  the 
first  ceremonials  of  his  accession  come  to  an  end,  than 
he  took  revenge  for  what  he  considered  his  wrongs  from 
the  House  of  Austria,  by  snatching  from  it  its  province  of 
Silesia.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a  war  with  his  wife's 
relations,  which,  with  some  intervals,  lasted  for  nearly 
twenty  years.  His  own  kingdom  was  laid  waste  and 
almost  destroyed ;  but  he  at  length  emerged  victorious. 
I  have  before  me  the  correspondence  which  passed  between 
Frederick  and  Queen  Elizabeth  Christine,  during  the  fifty- 
three  years  of  their  married  life.     Frederick  was  one  0/ 


286  WIFE   OF   FREDERICK  THE   GREAT. 

the  most  profuse  of  letter-writers ;  but  his  letters  to  his 
wife  are  brief  indeed,  and  frequently  of  cruel  coldness. 
Take  this  one  specimen,  written  from  the  battle-field : 

"  Madame,  I  have  the  satisfaction  to  inform  you  that 
Neisse  is  taken.  I  am  with  much  esteem,  your  very  faith- 
ful servant,  Frederick." 

From  another  bloody  field,  on  which  the  brother  of  the 
Queen  lay  dead  of  his  wounds,  the  King  wrote  thus  to  his 
wife : 

"  Madame,  you  know  probably  what  passed  the  day 
before  yesterday.  I  pity  the  dead,  and  regret  them.  My 
brothers  and  Ferdinand  are  well.  Prince  Louis  is  said  to 
be  wounded.     1  am  with  much  esteem,  etc.,  Frederick." 

The  poor  Queen,  who  had  never  enjoyed  anything  like 
tenderness  from  her  husband,  was  not  schooled  to  the 
point  of  receiving  such  a  letter  without  feeling  the  cruel 
hardness  of  it.  The  Ferdinand  spoken  of  by  the  King 
was  another  brother  of  hers,  and  to  him  she  wrote  a  day 
or  two  after : 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  the  King's  manners ;  but  that 
docs  not  prevent  me  from  being  sensible  of  them,  especially 
on  such  occasions,  when  one  of  my  brothers  has  ended  his 
life  in  his  service.     Such  manners  are  too  cruel." 

The  extreme  brevity  of  the  King's  letter  was  due,  in 
part,  to  the  pressing  nature  of  his  occupations  at  the 
close  of  a  campaign.  A  few  days  after,  when  he  had  more 
leisure,  he  wrote  in  a  tone  somewhat  kinder  and  more 
solacing  to  her  affectionate  heart : 

"  Madame,  I  deplore  the  death  of  your  brother,  Prince 
Albert ;  but  he  died  like  a  brave  man,  although  he  courted 
death  from  gaiety  of  heart  and  without  necessity.  Some- 
time ago,  I  notified  the  Duke,  your  father,  of  what  could 
not  fail  to  happen,  and  often  said  the  same  to  the  deceased 
Prince ;  but  he  only  followed  his  own  head,  and  I  wonder 
lie  was  not  killed  a  long  time  ago.     I  pity  you,  Madame, 


WIFE    OF    FREDERICK    THE    GREAT.  287 

for  the  sorrow  which  it  is  natural  you  should  feel  at  the 
death  of  your  relations ;  but  these  are  events  for  which 
there  is  no  remedy.     I  am.  with  esteem,  etc.,  Frederick.'' 

This  was  a  little  better ;  but  even  this  must  have 
wounded  and  chilled  the  sensibilities  of  a  woman  singu- 
larly devoted  to  her  family.  She  bore  her  lot,  however, 
with  great  patience ;  and,  as  she  advanced  in  years,  and 
her  character  matured,  she  became  a  much  more  presenta- 
ble and  interesting  person.  She  conquered,  at  length,  the 
King's  cordial  esteem,  and  the  letters  which  he  wrote  her 
in  their  old  age  are  often  in  a  very  affectionate  spirit. 
There  could  hardly  be  a  more  ill-assorted  pair  than  they 
were  ;  but  both  of  them,  notwithstanding  their  faults  and 
defects,  had  a  strong  sense  of  duty.  This  kept  them 
together.  The  longer  they  lived,  the  less  irksome  their 
union  became,  and  they  ended  in  cherishing  for  one 
another  a  genuine  and  great  regard. 

Frederick  died  in  1786,  aged  seventy-four.  In  his  will, 
after  making  an  unusually  liberal  allowance  for  his  wife's 
maintenance,  he  gave  as  a  reason  that  she  '*  had  never 
caused  him  the  least  discontent,  and  that  her  incor- 
ruptible virtue  was  worthy  of  love  and  consideration." 
She  died  in  17(J7,  aged  sixty -four  years. 

During  the  eleven  years  of  her  widowhood,  she  had  to 
endure  the  anxieties  and  terrors  of  the  revolutionary 
period,  which  involved  so  many  of  the  royal  houses  of 
Europe.  Those  events  disturbed  her  little.  She  passed 
much  of  her  time  in  works  of  benevolence,  and  wrote 
many  religious  tracts  for  circulation  among  the  poor. 
They  were  quite  in  the  style  of  our  "  Tracts,"  and  serve 
to  prove  the  infinite  absurdity  of  uniting  her  life  with 
tint  of  the  most  pronounced  unbeliever  in  Europe. 
v- Reflections  for  Every  Day  of  the  Week,"  was  the  title 
of  one  of  her  very  brief  and  mild  compositions,  and  she 
wrote  one  Tract  expressly  to  quiet  the  alarms  caused  bj 
fh  ■  French  R  v  '   ti  in. 


XXII. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  EUGENIE. 

THIS  lady,  formerly  styled  Empress  of  France,  and 
for  years  the  most  conspicuous  woman  in  Europe, 
is  now  (1883)  living  in  retirement  in  an  English  country 
house,  a  childless  widow.  Who  else  has  had  such  a 
career  as  she  ? 

She  was  born  in  Spain  in  1826,  in  the  province  of 
Granada,  the  picturesque  scenery  and  romantic  traditions 
of  which  the  pen  of  Irving  has  made  familiar.  Her 
father,  the  Count  de  Monti  jo  and  Teba,  was  a  grandee  of 
Spain,  from  whom  she  inherited  many  titles  of  nobility. 
He  died  before  her  birth.  Her  mother,  Maria  Manuela 
Kirkpatrick,  was  a  descendant  of  a  Scotch  family  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  faith,  who  emigrated  to  Spain  after  the 
fall  of  the  Stuarts. 

Her  childhood  was  passed  in  Madrid.  The  graceful 
self-possession  which  in  after  years  characterized  her 
demeanor  was  probably  due  to  her  early  drill  in  the  old 
Spanish  etiquette.  Washington  Irving,  who  was  then  in 
Spain,  knew  her  mother  well,  and  was  a  frequent  visitor 
at  her  house,  where  he  soon  made  friends  with  the  little 
Eugenie  and  her  beautiful  sisters,  Maria  and  Henriquetta. 
In  later  years,  when  she  was  amazing  Europe  with  the 
costliness  of  her  costumes  and  the  splendor  of  her  court, 
he  recalled  with  interest  and  amusement  the  many  times 
he  had  held  the  future  Empress  on  his  knee,  when  she 
was  an  alert,  dark-eyed  little  girl,  doubtless  very  happy 
to  be  entertained  with  such  stories  of  her  native  land  as 
he  could  tell  her. 

(288) 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE.  289 

From  Madrid  she  was  sent  to  Toulouse,  and  afterwards  to 
Bristol  to  pursue  her  education.  When  she  left  school 
she  was  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  young  lady,  easy  in 
her  manners  and  fluent  in  conversation,  which  she  could 
carry  on  with  apparently  equal  ease  in  Spanish,  English, 
or  French.  She  possessed  more  than  the  average  informa- 
tion, and  displayed  a  readiness  and  aptness  of  reply 
which  on  some  occasions  approached  the  brilliancy  of  wit. 
Her  beauty  was  striking  and  exceptional;  her  form  slen- 
der and  perfectly  moulded  ;  her  complexion  brilliantly 
fair ;  her  "black  eyes  large  and  expressive  ;  her  hair  abund- 
ant and  of  a  rich  auburn  color.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
when  she  traveled  with  her  mother  she  became  success- 
ively the  belle  of  the  season  in  London,  Madrid,  and 
Paris. 

While  in  London  she  was  introduced  to  Louis  Napoleon, 
then  an  exile  from  France,  and  distinguished  chiefly  for 
the  absurd  and  disastrous  failure  of  his  first  attempt  to 
overthrow  the  government  of  Louis  Philippe.  In  1851 
she  met  him  again.  He  was  then  called  Napoleon  III, 
and  she  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  fashion  in 
Paris.  In  1853  he  communicated  to  the  Senate  his 
determination  to  marry  her. 

"  I  come,  then,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  the  document 
conveying  this  intelligence,  "to  say  to  France  that  I  have 
preferred  the  woman  whom  I  love,  and  whom  I  respect, 
to  one  who  is  unknown,  whose  alliance  would  have  advant- 
ages mingled  with  sacrifices." 

This  had  rather  a  taking  sound,  and,  in  truth,  the  man 
did  possess  a  small  literary  gift,  adapted  to  his  style  of 
public  falsehood.  It  was  a  purely  histrionic  style, 
designed  to  conceal  the  writer's  thought,  but  often  failing 
in  that  design.  Unfortunately  for  the  effect  of  these  fine 
words  upon  the  public,  it  was  surmised  at  the  time,  and  is 
now  known,  that  he  had  been  soliciting  the  alliance  of 


290  THE    FLIGHT    OF   EUGENIE. 

several  royal  ladies,  whose  parents  had  in  turn  politely 
but  firmly  declined  the  honor  of  having  him  for  a  son-in- 
law. 

He  was  married  to  Eugenie,  according  to  the  civil  form, 
on  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  January,  1853,  at  the  Tuil- 
eries.  On  the  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  the  religious 
ceremony  took  place  at  Notre  Dame,  with  every  circum- 
stance that  could  add  to  the  splendor  and  impressiveness 
of  the  spectacle.  The  bride  and  bridegroom  occupied  two 
magnificent  thrones  erected  before  the  high  altar.  It  was 
observed  that  Eugenie  betrayed  much  agitation  during 
the  progress  of  the  rite,  and  that  her  husband  endeavored 
to  reassure  her. 

If  the  duties  of  an  Empress  consist  in  dressing  fre- 
quently, in  behaving  graciously,  in  bestowing  picturesque 
charities,  in  giving  showy  entertainments,  and  in  nothing 
more — then  was  Euge'nic  a  model  empress.  She  was 
fitted  by  nature  to  play  the  part  of  Lady  Bountiful  and 
dwell  in  the  House  Beautiful.  Her  first  act  was  in  charac- 
ter. The  city  of  Paris  voted  her  a  large  sum  for  the  pur- 
chase of  jewels :  she  accepted  the  money,  but  requested 
permission  to  devote  it  to  founding  an  institution  for  the 
education  of  young  girls  belonging  to  the  working  classes. 
She  further  bestowed  in  charity  twenty  thousand  dollars 
of  a  present  of  fifty  thousand  given  her  at  the  same  time5 
by  her  husband  ;  and  her  "reign"  was  marked  by  many 
other  striking  gifts  to  charitable  and  scientific  objects. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  what  I  have  elsewhere 
called  "the  clothes  mania"  raged  throughout  Christen- 
dom. It  was  within  her  province  to  decide  what  fashions 
fhould  prevail  in  France,  in  Europe,  in  America,  in  parts 
of  Asia.  She  might  have  claimed  the  privilege  of  intro- 
ducing taste,  elegance,  and  simplicity  in  dress.  Instead, 
she  aggravated  the  rule  of  cumbersome  extravagance. 

Her   own  costumes  were  of    the  most  elaborate  con- 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE.  291 

structioii,  and  were  changed  with  a  frequency  that  was 
ludicrous.  She  displayed  three  or  four  dresses  in  the 
course  of  each  day,  and  even  the  most  expensive  were 
never  worn  more  than  twice.  Many  writers  derived  their 
income  from  describing  in  the  journals  of  the  day  these 
successive  "  creations  "  of  the  Paris  milliner  and  dress- 
maker. At  one  time  we  were  told  that  the  Empress, 
wore  to  mass  a  blue  satin  trained  dress  trimmed  with 
Russian  sable,  and  a  bonnet  of  iris  velvet  adorned  with 
an  aigrette.  Again  it  was  recorded  that  an  evening  dress 
in  which  she  appeared  was  "  an  apricot  silk,  puffed  all 
round  the  bottom  with  apricot  tulle;  flounces  worked  with 
silver,  fuchsia  pattern,  and  trimmed  with  Venetian  fringe 
of  white  silk.  Over  this  an  immense  train  of  white 
satin,  softened  by  apricot  tulle,  worked  with  silver  fuch- 
sias and  fringe  round  the  borders." 

Another  writer  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
sentiment  of  her  attire  was  suited  to  the  occasion  upon 
which  it  was  worn.  Thus  for  attending  a  council  of  min- 
isters, she  selected  a  robe  of  "a  grave,  reflecting  tone,  on 
which  hues  of  steel-gray  meet  rays  of  studious  brown, 
the  ensemble  being  burnished  armor."  She  accumulated 
a  collection  of  fans,  furs,  laces,  and  jewels  that  probably 
surpassed  any  other  in  existence. 

During  the  period  that  elapsed  between  her  marriage 
and  her  flight,  she  received  twenty  thousand  dollars  of 
pin  money  every  month,  and  this  sum  she  never  failed  to 
spend  to  the  last  cent.  The  example  which  she  set  was 
followed  only  too  willingly  by  many  women  of  France 
and  other  countries.  Never  in  modern  times  have  the 
fashions  been  more  elaborate,  extravagant,  and  senseless 
than  while  Eugenie  occupied  the  palaces  of  France. 

During  this  portion  of  her  career  she  figured  in  many 
scenes  and  pageants  which  found  a  place  in  journalism. 
Hei  visit  with  her  husband  to  the  court  of  Queen  Yicto- 

18 


292  THE    FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE. 

ria  will  be  at  once  recalled,  as  well  as  the  visit  which  the 
Queen  and  Prince  Albert  made  to  Paris  in  return.  Both 
these  occasions  were  marked  by  expensive  festivities  and 
much  interchange  of  compliment.  At  the  opening  of  the 
Suez  Canal  in  1869,  she  was  present  in  the  yacht  FAigle, 
and  played  a  chief  part  in  the  celebration.  It  was  proba- 
bly at  this  time  that  she  acquired  the  friendship  of  M. 
dc  Lesseps,  who  in  her  hour  of  danger  proved  a  friend 
indeed.  The  Aigle  formed  one  of  the  "  inauguration 
fleet "  of  forty-five  vessels,  and  took  the  lead  in  making 
the  passage  to  the  Red  Sea,  where,  with  the  Empress  on 
board,  it  arrived  on  the  twenty-second  of  November,  return- 
ing the  next  day  to  the  Mediterranean. 

Twice  during  the  absence  of  her  husband,  once  in 
1865,  wdule  he  was  in  Algeria,  and  again  in  1870,  during 
the  Franco-Prussian  War,  Eugenie  was  left  the  nominal 
head  of  the  state  with  the  title  of  Regent.  Her  political 
feelings  were  influenced  by  her  religion,  for  she  was 
a  Spanish  Catholic. 

In  the  struggle  which  ended  so  disastrously  for  herself 
and  her  family,  she  took  the  liveliest  interest,  and  it  is 
even  said  that  she  was  accustomed  to  refer  to  it  as  "  my 
war." 

The  last  four  weeks  of  her  abode  in  France,  Eugenie 
spent  at  the  Tuileries.  Of  those  days  of  confusion  and 
distress  the  public  has  recently  learned  many  details 
through  a  gentleman  who  was  at  that  period  an  attache* 
of  an  important  personage'  connected  with  the  court. 
His  position  enabled  him  to  observe  all  that  took  place, 
and  he  was  afterwards  one  of  the  trusted  few  who  assisted 
the  empress  to  escape. 

The  series  of  defeats  which  culminated  in  Sedan  had 
already  begun,  and  a  proclamation  had  appeared  declar- 
ing Paris  in  a  state  of  siege.  Still  Eugenie  was  hopeful. 
She  thought  "with  a  lady's  romantic  ideas  about  mili- 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE.  293 

tary  possibilities,"  says  the  narrator,  "  that  everything 
could  be  retrieved  by  a  grand  coup."  She  was  by  no 
means  afraid  to  criticize,  and  expressed  her  opinion  of 
certain  generals  with  great  freedom,  placing  all  her  faith 
in  Marshal  Bazaine.  The  minister  of  war,  Count  do 
Palikao,  concealed  from  her  the  gravity  of  the  situation, 
and  kept  from  her  all  the  disagreeable  news  that  he 
could.  But  it  was  soon  observed  that  her  husband's  sec- 
retary busied  himself  in  collecting  the  most  important 
papers  of  his  office  as  if  for  removal,  and  not  long  after- 
ward her  friends  advised  her  to  collect  her  own  valuables 
and  prepare  for  departure. 

Upon  hearing  this  her  confidence  forsook  her,  and  she 
was  seized  with  terror.  She  feared  a  revolution  ;  she 
feared  being  murdered  at  midnight  by  a  mob.  Her  mind 
ran  continually  upon  that  terrible  night  when  the  mob  of 
Paris  went  to  Versailles  to  fetch  the  King  and  Queen, 
and  when  several  of  the  guard  were  killed  in  protecting 
Marie  Antoinette.  She  seemed  at  one  time  resolved  upon 
having  Gambetta  and  other  Republican  leaders  arrested ; 
yet  when  her  friends  wished  the  scheme  to  be  carried 
into  execution,  she  would  permit  nothing  to  be  done. 
She  passed  her  time  in  suspense,  vacillation,  and  dread. 

"  In  a  fortnight,"  records  the  observant  attache*,  "  Her 
fair  face  became  haggard,  and  streaks  of  silver  showed 
themselves  in  her  hair." 

Meanwhile  she  was  obliged  as  usual  to  give  audiences 
and  hold  receptions,  and  to  conduct  herself  as  if  all  was 
going  well.  Once  again,  too,  her  hopes  were  raised  by  a 
despatch  announcing  as  a  victory  an  engagement  which 
really  resulted  in  defeat.  On  this  occasion  she  was  so 
overcome  with  joy  that  she  ran  from  her  apartments  to  the 
guard-room,  and  appeared  suddenly  among  the  soldiers  who 
were  lying  upon  camp-beds  smoking  or  playing  cards, 
waving  the  telegram  in  her  hand  and  crying, 


294  THE    FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE. 

"  The  Prussians  arc  beaten  !  " 

Court  etiquette  and  the  rules  of  audience  were  insensi- 
bly relaxed,  and  strange  visitors  were  admitted  to  the 
Tuileries.  Eugdnie  found  herself  besieged  by  men  deter- 
mined to  bully  or  coax  her  into  giving  countenance  to 
their  plans  for  a  new  campaign,  new  implements  of  war, 
new  policy,  or  new  officials — the  latter  represented  by 
themselves.  The  servants  of  the  palace,  too,  perceived 
their  opportunity  and  did  not  let  it  slip.  Many  absconded, 
carrying  away  with  them  valuable  bronzes,  statuettes,  and 
articles  of  clothing  ;  others  invited  their  friends  and  held 
feasts  in  the  kitchen.  Once,  owing  to  their  carelessness, 
a  lunch  set  out  for  the  Empress  was  devoured  by  a  crowd 
of  people  awaiting  audience,  who  swooped  down  upon  it 
from  a  neighboring  ante-chamber. 

At  last  came  the  news  of  her  husband's  surrender  at 
Sedan.  Eugdnie  was  up  all  night ;  council  after  council 
was  held,  as  new  reports  and  scraps  of  information 
arrived.  Finally,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  it  was 
decided  that  she  should  ride  on  horseback  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  herself  proclaim  to  the  unpopular 
Legislature  its  dissolution.  This  resolution,  however, 
was  never  carried  into  effect,  for  lack  of  a  riding  dress  ! 
A  plain  black  habit  with  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
pinned  upon  her  breast  was  what  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  wear,  but  among  the  three  hundred  dresses  then 
hanging  on  their  pegs  in  the  Tuileries,  there  was  only  one 
riding  habit  to  be  found,  and  that  was  neither  black  nor 
plain.  It  was  a  dress  of  gorgeous  green,  embroidered 
with  gold,  and  designed  to  be  worn  with  a  three-cornered 
Louis  XV  hat — the  costume  of  the  imperial  hunt  at 
Fontainebleau.  This  was  pronounced,  with  evident 
justice,  to  be  too  theatrical,  and  the  enterprise  was  con- 
sequently relinquished. 

Upon  the  fourth  of  September,  the  mob  so  long  feared 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    EUGENIE.  295 

at  length  made  its  appearance.  But  it  was  not  a  mob 
such  as  had  threatened  Marie  Antoinette ;  it  was  not 
bloodthirsty  ;  it  was  not  violent ;  the  spirit  of  destruction 
latent  in  it  was  not  aroused.  It  advanced  slowly,  over- 
flowing from  the  streets  and  squares  where  it  had  been 
gathering  all  the  morning,  into  the  beautiful  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  and  dividing  into  two  parts,  streamed  down 
upon  the  palace  itself.  Eugenie,  standing  behind  a 
curtain  in  the  drawing-room,  viewed  its  approach  through 
an  opera-glass,  and  remarked  with  sorrow  and  surprise 
that  it  was  apparently  led  by  M.  Victorien  Sardou,  the 
great  dramatist.  This  gentleman  had  indeed  placed  him- 
self at  its  head,  but  only  that  he  might  control  it,  and  it 
was  largely  owing  to  him  that  the  building  was  not  sacked 
when  it  finally  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  populace. 

"  At  twenty  minutes  past  two,"  says  the  writer  of  the 
article  in  Temple  Bar  to  which  I  have  referred,  "  Signor 
Nigra,  the  Italian  ambassador,  passed  through  the  white 
drawing-room  with  a  rather  jolly  air  on  his  face,  as 
though  nothing  were  happening.  'What  news?'  asked 
somebody.  'Mais  rienf  lie  answered  cheerfully,  and 
strode  off,  erect  and  long-legged,  into  the  Empress's  rooms. 
He  had  come  to  tell  the  Empress  that  it  was  time  to  fly. 
Her  fortitude  forsook  her  at  this  during  a  few  seconds, 
and  she  could  not  articulate,  but  she  made  a  sign  that  she 
wished  to  show  herself  to  those  who  had  stood  by  her 
faithfully  to  the  last.  The  door  of  the  white  drawing- 
room  was  thrown  open,  and  the  Empress  appeared  for  a 
moment  on  the  threshold — an  inexpressibly  touching 
little  figure  in  her  simple  black  dress  and  white  collar. 
She  made  a  curtesy  and  waved  her  hand,  trying  hard  to 
smile,  while  many — not  all  of  them  women — were  sobbing 
aloud.  Then,  with  gentle  persuasion,  Prince  Richard 
Mettemich,  the  Austrian  ambassador,  drew  her  back  and 
the  door  was  closed  atrain." 


296  THE    FLIGHT    OF    EUGENIE. 

A  cab  was  waiting  on  the  Qnai  du  Louvre,  with  the 
Emperor's  master  of  horse,  disguised  as  a  coachman,  upon 
the  box  and  a  fast  trotting-horse  between  the  shafts. 
Soon  Euge'nic  and  "her  lady-in-waiting,  Madame  Carette, 
approached  it,  both  veiled  and  escorted  by  Signor  Nigra, 
Prince  Metternicn,  and  M.  Ferdinand  do  Lesseps.  Just 
as  Eugdnie  was  entering  it  a  street  boy  recognized  her 
and  shouted,  "There  is  the  Empress!"  But  M.  de 
Lesseps,  with  ready  presence  of  mind  turned  promptly 
upon  the  astonished  lad  and  gave  him  a  Kick,  exclaiming: 

"Ah,  you're  crying  '  Vive  V Empereur  are  you  ?  That 
will  teach  you  !" 

These  words  at  once  directed  the  feeling  of  the 
bystanders  against  the  boy,  and  meanwhile  the  Empress 
was  driven  away.  As  she  departed,  she  was  obliged  to 
pass  by  a  crowrd  of  over  a  thousand  persons  who  were 
making  violent  outcries  against  the  Emperor  and  herself. 
Her  destination  was  the  house  of  her  American  dentist, 
Dr.  Evans,  where  she  passed  the  night.  Next  morning 
he  drove  her  out  of  Paris  in  an  open  phaeton,  and  accom- 
panied her  to  Belgium,  but  not  finding  any  safe  oppor- 
tunity to  embark  thence  for  England,  he  soon  returned 
with  her  to  Trouville,  in  France. 

In  the  harbor  of  Trouville  there  was  then  lying  a  little 
English  yacht  of  forty-two  tons,  named  the  "  Gazelle ; " 
the  property  of  Sir  John  Burgoyne.  It  was  determined 
by  Dr.  Evans  that  if  possible  the  Empress  should  be  con- 
veyed to  England  in  this  vessel,  and  on  September  sixth 
he  went  on  board  of  her,  accompanied  by  his  nephew,  to 
confer  with  her  owmer.  Sir  John  Burgoyne  would  not  at 
first  believe  that  Eugenie  was  indeed  in  Trouville,  and 
laughingly  told  the  two  Americans  that  he  was  not  to  be 
fooled  by  a  pair  of  Yankees  ;  then,  observing  their  agita- 
tion, he  became  more  serious  and  requested  them  to 
descend  into  the  cabin  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  Lady 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE.  297 

Burgoyne.  It  so  happened  that  she  was  well  acquainted 
with  Paris  and  knew  that  Dr.  Evans  was  a  fashionable 
dentist,  patronized  by  the  court ;  she  therefore  placed 
faith  in  his  story  and  at  once  stated  her  desire  to  be  of 
service,  if  possible,  to  the  unfortunate  Eugenie.  The 
details  of  her  embarkation  were  then  arranged  with  Sir 
John,  and  the  gentlemen  left  the  yacht. 

Soon  after  their  departure  a  French  police  spy  came  on 
board  and  searched  the  vessel  thoroughly,  but  found 
nothing  suspicious.  It  was  never  known  what  informa- 
tion led  him  to  make  the  search. 

A  little  before  midnight  Eugenie,  accompanied  by 
Madame  Lebreton,  left  the  furnished  apartments  provided 
for  her  by  Dr.  Evans,  where,  at  his  suggestion,  she  had 
been  passed  off  as  an  insane  lady,  traveling  to  England 
under  his  charge  and  that  of  an  attendant.  Escorted  by 
the  faithful  doctor  the  two  ladies,  closely  veiled,  proceeded 
te>  the  dock.  Sir  John  Burgoyne's  entry  in  the  log  of 
the  "  Gazelle  "  describes  their  meeting  as  follows : 

':  Went  on  to  the  quay  and  met  shortly  afterwards  two 
ladies  walking  together,  with  a  gentleman  who  carried  a 
bag  after  them.  One  of  the  ladies  came  up  to  me  and 
said, '  I  believe  you  are  the  English  gentleman  who  will 
take  me  to  England.  I  am  the  Empress.'  Stie  then 
burst  into  tears,  and  I  told  her  my  name  and  offered  her 
my  arm,  which  she  took,  and  walked  on  board  the 
'  Gazelle,'  where  I  presented  Lady  Burgoyne  to  her.  She 
at  once  asked  for  newspaper?  and  begged  Lady  Burgoyne 
to  give  her  tidings  of  the  Emperor  and  the  Prince 
Imperial." 

Fortunately,  there  were  on  board  papers  irom  which  she 
learned  of  the  safety  of  her  son,  who  had  gone  to  Eng- 
land, as  well  as  further  details  of  the  surrender  of  Sedan, 
the  subsequent  revolution,  and  the  flight  of  the  various 
dignitaries  of    the  state.      Lady    Burgoyne   showed   her 


298  THE   FLIGHT   OF    EUGENIE. 

every  kindness,  and  listened  with  the  deepest  interest  and 
sympathy  to  her  account  of  her  last  days  in  the  Tuil- 
eries  and  her  escape  from  Paris.  In  telling  the  story 
Eugenie  frequently  gave  way  to  tears,  but  assured  her 
hostess  that  she  now  felt  herself  perfectly  safe,  as  she 
was  under  the  protection  of  Englishmen ;  indeed,  she 
imagined  herself  safer  than  at  that  moment  she  really 
was.  At  a  quarter  to  two  in  the  morning  Sir  John,  who 
had  been  on  shore,  returned  to  the  yacht  and  entered  in 
the  log-book  : 

"  Mob  at  the  caf£s  began  making  great  noise,  singing 
the  '  Marseillaise.'  Woke  up  men  and  got  ready  to  slip. 
Went  myself  to  the  cafe's  and  found  drunken  Mobiles" 

The  outcries  of  these  demoralized  soldiers  against  the 
Emperor  and  Empress  were  so  violent  that  Sir  John, 
remembering  the  visit  of  the  French  spy,  considered  an 
attack  upon  the  yacht  quite  within  the  limits  of  possi- 
bility. He  therefore  thought  it  best  to  tell  his  crew  the 
name  of  the  lady  he  had  taken  on  board,  and  added  that 
they  might  be  called  upon  to  defend  her,  which  they  at 
once  expressed  their  willingness  to  do.  No  attack  was 
made,  however,  and  at  the  break  of  dawn  the  "  Gazelle" 
prepared  for  sea. 

The  aiight  had  been  black  and  stormy.  It  had  proved 
fatal,  as  was  afterwards  learned,  to  the  man-of-war 
"  Captain,"  the  most  powerful  fighting  ship  in  the  British 
navy,  commanded  by  Sir  John's  cousin,  which  went  down 
with  all  on  board.  Nor  did  the  morning  promise  better 
weather — squally,  with  ragged  clouds  flying  across  the 
sky,  and  a  high  sea ;  a  bad  day  for  the  little  cutter. 
Nevertheless,  a  hour  or  two  later  she  sailed,  and  Sir  John 
entered  in  the  log-book  : 

"  At  7.30  discharged  pilot;  set  mainsail  and  spinnaker 
and  second  jib  (topsail  housed).  Wind  fresh.  Heavy 
ground  swell.  Heavy  rain  and  thick.  Hove  patent  log 
at  8  a.m.     At  9  wind  freshened." 


THE    FLTGHT    OF    EUGENIE.  299 

Poor  Eugenie,  m  ho  had  been  at  length  persuaded  to  lie 
down  and  take  some  rest,  was  soon  rudely  awakened. 
The  wind  rose  until  it  blew  a  gale ;  the  sea  became 
rougher  and  rougher  ;  at  noon  a  heavy  squall  burst,  carry- 
ing away  the  spinnaker  boom,  and,  a  few  minutes  later, 
the  wind  veered  suddenly,  and  the  little  yacht  with  sails 
close-reefed,  prepared  to  beat  slowly  to  windward.  At 
half-past  five  the  Isle  of  Wight  was  sighted  ;  and  at  half- 
past  seven,  the  log  records:  "  Made  but  little  way.  Sea 
too  heavy  for  yacht.  Took  another  reef  in  sail  and  triced 
up  tack.  Yacht  behaving  splendidly.  Tacking  fre- 
quently ;  all  hands  on  deck  and  frequent  thunder- 
showers." 

There  are  no  further  entries  in  the  log  until  the  vessel 
anchored  off  Ryde  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning.  But, 
during  the  night,  the  storm  became  a  tempest,  masses 
of  water  fell  upon  the  deck  with  loud  and  terrifying 
sounds,  and  the  little  cutter  was  pitched  from  one 
great  wave  to  another.  It  was  a  night  of  peril  and 
horror,  and  many  times  Eugdnie  gave  up  all  hopes,  and 
expected  to  find  her  grave  at  the  bottom  of  the  English 
Channel  before  morning.  She  bore  herself,  however, 
with  coolness  and  courage,  and  drew  some  comfort  from 
the  calm  and  matter-of-fact  demeanor  of  Lady  Burgoyne, 
which  excited  her  wonder  and  admiration.  Once,  when, 
as  Madame  Lebreton  expressed  it,  "  All  cracked  around 
us,"  she  observed  that  she  had  just  passed  through  a 
worse  storm  in  Paris. 

But  at  length  the  danger  was  passed,  and  at  three  in 
the  morning  a  breakfnst  was  served  in  the  cabin  of  the 
yacht,  at  which  Eugdnie  was  quite  cheerful  and  at  times 
even  gay,  making  a  joke  out  of  many  things  which  some 
hours  before  had  seemed  to  her  shocking  and  even  terri- 
ble. Her  health  was  drunk  in  champagne,  and  she 
returned  thanks  in  a  little  informal  speech,  brief,  but  full 


£00  THE   FLIGHT   OF   EUGENIE. 

of  gratitude  to  Sir  John  and  Lady  Burgoyne.  She  also 
expressed  a  desire  to  present  some  little  token  of  remem- 
brance to  the  crew  of  the  yacht,  who  were  accordingly 
summoned  to  meet  her  in  the  cabin,  where  each  man 
received  from  her  hand  a  Napoleon,  and  acknowledged 
the  gift  with  an  "I  thank  you  very  much,"  spoken  in 
English.  The  coins  were  afterwards  punched  and  worn 
by  the  sailors  as  mementoes. 

At  half-past  seven  in  the  morning,  accompanied  by 
Sir  Jolm  Burgoyne,  she  left  the  yacht  and  went  to  a 
hotel,  whence  she  departed  next  day  for  Brighton.  She 
was  attired,  when  she  landed  in  England,  entirely  in 
clothes  borrowed  from  Lady  Burgoyne,  since  she  had 
brought  with  her  but  a  small  traveling  bag,  and  her  own 
garments  were  ruined  by  storm  and  travel.  She  remained 
for  a  short  time  unknown.  Indeed,  when  Sir  John 
communicated  to  Lord  Granville  the  circumstances  of  her 
arrival,  he  received  a  polite  reply  to  his  letter,  in  which 
Lord  Granville  inquired  if  he  was  sure  he  had  not  been 
imposed  upon. 

When,  however,  the  truth  was  proved  beyond  dispute, 
and  Euge'nie  quitted  her  incognita,  she  was  kindly  wel- 
comed by  Queen  Victoria  and  the  royal  family,  and  the 
beautiful  country  residence  of  Camden  House,  Chisel- 
hurst,  was  placed  at  her  disposal.  Here  she  was  joined' 
by  her  son,  and  later  by  her  husband,  and  here  Sir  John 
and  Lady  Burgoyne  were  soon  invited  to  visit  her  and 
receive  the  thanks  of  the  family. 

Louis  Napoleon  passed  the  remaining  years  of  his  life 
at  this  place,  living  quietly  and  chiefly  occupied  in  writ- 
ing and  in  planning  the  recovery  of  his  power.  He  died 
in  1873.  All  the  hopes  and  affections  of  his  widow  then 
centred  in  her  son,  called  by  some  the  Prince  Imperial. 
In  the  year  1866  he  had  been  officially  associated  with  his 
father  in  imperial  power.     He  was  then  only  ten  years  old, 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    EUGENIE. 


301 


a  sweet  and  gentle  child,  with  more  likeness  to  his  mother 
than  to  his  father.  On  that  occasion  the  throne-room  of 
the  Louvre  was  crowded  with  the  great  officers  of  state,  of 
the  army,  and  of  the  imperial  household,  who  made  their 
obeisance  to  the  child.  Five  years  later  he  was  a  cadet  in 
the  English  military  school  at  Woolwich.  There  he  was 
studious  and  virtuous,  and  seemed  oppressed  with  his  im- 
perial birth  and  destiny.  He  was  a  Napoleon — he  might 
yet  be  an  Emperor.  When  he  reached  manhood,  still  frail 
and  delicate,  yet  with  a  determined  spirit  in  a  gentle  soul, 
he  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  prove  that  he  too  belonged 
to  a  race  of  heroes.  He  longed  to  practice  that  game  of  war 
which  he  had  studied.  He  could  not  do  so  in  Europe — he 
could  not  enlist  in  the  army  of  France,  for  its  government 
would  not  allow  him,  and  he  dared  not  fight  against  the  flag 
which  represented  his  country. 

But  afar  in  Africa  there  was  a  war  against  savages,  and  in 
it  he  found  his  opportunity.  His  feelings  are  shown  in  some 
letters  which  have  been  published :  "  I  desire  to  dispel  the 
doubts  which  have  on  some  occasions  been  manifested  con- 
cerning the  energy  of  my  will.  .  .  .  When  one  belongs  to 
a  race  of  warriors,  it  is  only  with  the  steel  in  your  hand  that 
you  can  prove  what  you  are."  So  the  little.  Prince,  with 
soul  too  great  for  his  delicate  body,  went  forth  to  meet  his 
fate — so  different  from  his  dreams.  Lord  Chelmsford,  the 
English  commander,  was  charged  to  take  special  care  of  the 
adventurous  knight.  Nobody  believed  that  there  was  any 
real  danger.  But  in  his  first  encounter  with  the  Zulus,  the 
Prince  was  separated  from  his  companions,  and  fell  under 
the  spears  of  the  ruthless  savages.  He,  the  least  warlike  of 
the  Bonaparte  family  which  had  deluged  Europe  with 
blood,  was  the  only  one  to  fall  on  the  field  of  battle.  His 
will  shows  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  family  that  has  once 
tasted  power  to  accept  the  common  lot,  or  even  to  believe 
that  they  are  unnecessary. 


302 


THE    FLIGHT    OP    EUGENIE. 


"I  have  do  need,"  he  says,  "to  recommend  to  my 
mother  to  neglect  nothing  in  order  to  defend  the  memory 
of  my  great-uncle  and  of  my  father.  I  beg  her  to  remem- 
ber that  as  long  as  there  shall  be  Bonapartists,  the  impe- 
rial cause  will  have  representatives.  The  duties  of  our 
house  toward  the  country  will  not  cease  with  my  life." 

To  defend  the  memory  of  either  Napoleon,  after  the 
light  thrown  of  late  years  upon  their  career,  might 
perhaps  be  difficult. 

Eugenie's  willingness  to  marry  the  usurper  and  share 
the  plunder  of  France,  can  be  forgiven  only  because  it  is 
so  plain  that  she  Understood  nothing  of  the  situation. 
She  enjoyed  the  fruits  of  a  crime,  but  she  was  not  herself 
depraved.  Looking  back  upon  her  career  we  can  say 
that,  if  she  never  rose  to  be  anything  better,  she  was 
never  anything  worse  than  a  woman  of  fashion  with  her 
hand  in  the  treasury  of  a  nation.  There  was  seldom  a 
day  in  what  is  called  "  the  reign "  of  Louis  Napoleon 
when  either  he  or  she  felt  secure  in  their  position.  Both 
did  what  they  could  to  make  themselves  less  unsafe.  He 
penned  histrionic  papers ;  she  changed  her  dress  four 
times  a  day. 

To  whom  shall  this  shadow  of  a  kingly  crown  descend? 
Napoleon  III.  had  not  been  long  on  the  thivme  when  the 
French  Senate  declared  his  cousin,  the  son  of  Jerome,  King 
of  Westphalia,  his  heir,  and  though  the  subsequent  birth  of 
the  Prince  Imperial  deferred  this  claim,  it  did  not  in  the 
feelings  of  the  Bonapartists  destroy  it.  But  that  Prince 
Napoleon,  who  by  way  of  distinction  is  generally  called 
Prince  Jerome,  from  his  father's  name,  afterwards  grievously 
offended  the  Emperor  by  some  republican  speeches.  He 
was  in  fact  an  excellent  orator,  but  very  indolent,  a  man  of 
talk  and  not  of  deeds,  as  the  witty  Parisians  indicated  by  his 
nickname  Plon-Plon.  The  Emperor,  who  was  in  Algeria 
when   the   Prince   made  some  bold    utterances   in  Corsica, 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    EUGENIE.  303 

caused  the  official  newspaper  to  publish  a  rebuke.  Imme- 
diately the  Prince  resigned  all  his  offices  and  honors,  though 
he  still  retained  his  life-membership  in  the  Senate,  where  he 
made  severe  comments  on  the  administration  of  affairs. 
The  coldness  between  the  Emperor  and  his  shrewd  but  lazy 
cousin  continued  to  the  end.  The  Prince  Imperial,  in  the 
will  already  mentioned,  passed  over  his  uncle  Plon-Plon, 
and  declared  Plon-Plon's  eldest  son  Victor  the  head  of  the 
party  and  heir  to  the  Imperial  pretensions.  Prince  Jerome, 
however,  quietly  ignored  this  will,  and  declared  himself 
head  of  the  family,  but  refused  to  become  an  Imperial  pre- 
tender. For  a  few  days  in  1883  it  seemed  as  if  he  were 
about  to  renew  the  claim  to  the  leadership  of  France,  and 
the  Republican  government  put  him  in  prison,  where  his 
unusual  ardor  soon  cooled. 


XXIII. 

CAROLINE  HERSCHEL. 

IS  there  anything  favorable  to  longevity  in  the  study  of 
Astronomy  ?  Two  ladies  in  recent  times  have  attained 
universal  celebrity  for  their  knowledge  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  Caroline  Herschel  and  Mrs.  Somerville,  both  of 
whom  lived  to  an  extraordinary  age.  Mrs.  Somerville 
died  at  ninety -two,  and  Miss  Herschel  at  ninety-eight : 
and  both  of  them  appear  to  have  had  lives  as  happy  as 
they  were  long. 

Imagine  Caroline  Herschel,  first  of  all,  as  a  very  little 
German  girl,  seven  years  of  age,  living  at  Hanover  in  her 
father's  house,  with  plenty  of  brothers  and  sisters  about 
her.  Her  father  was  a  musician  and  brought  up  all  his 
children  to  music.  It  appears  to  have  been  a  musical  race, 
for  we  hear  of  a  good  many  Herschels,  musicians,  in  and 
about  the  courts  of  George  the  Second  and  George  the 
Third,  kings  of  Hanover  and  England.  She  grew  up, 
then,  in  an  atmosphere  of  music ;  and,  about  the  time  of 
her  birth,  her  brother  William,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  obtained 
the  appointment  of  flageolet  player  in  the  king's  own 
band — a  joyful  event,  doubtless,  in  the  poor  musician's 
large  family. 

But  Caroline  is  seven  years  of  age,  and  an  event  is 
about  to  take  place  in  the  household  the  opposite  of  joyful. 
Her  brother,  William,  a  youth  now  of  nineteen,  is  going 
to  England,  in  quest  of  better  fortune.  He  departs,  and 
the  affairs  of  the  family  resume  their  usual  course.  Let- 
ters arrive,  from  time  to  time,  from  the  adventurer  in 

(304) 


CAROLINE   HERSCHEL.  305 

England  relating  his  good  and  ill  fortune,  and  meanwhile 
Caroline  grows  up  to  womanhood.  She  is  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  when  word  comes  from  her  brother  that  he 
is  well  established  at  Bath  as  organist  and  music-master, 
and  that  he  would  gladly  have  his  sister  come  to  him  and 
preside  over  his  home. 

She  joins  him  at  Bath,  then  in  the  full  tide  of  its  pros- 
perity as  a  fashionable  watering-place.  Her  brother,  as  I 
have  before  related,  shared  this  prosperity,  played  the 
organ  at  a  church,  gave  lessons  and  concerts,  and  had 
some  leisure  left  for  reading  and  study.  Both  sister  and 
brother  became  enthusiastic  students  of  astronomy  through 
the  lectures  and  writings  of  Ferguson,  the  popular  astrono- 
mer of  that  day.  The  brother  makes  a  telescope  for 
himself;  makes  another;  succeeds  very  happily  ;  makes 
dozens  and  scores  of  telescopes ;  and  among  others,  makes 
one  for  his  sister,  Caroline,  with  which  she  begins  to 
scrutinize  the  heavens.  She  discovers  a  comet,  to  her 
great  delight.  This  success  leads  her  to  sweep  the  whole 
heavens  in  search  of  comets,  and  by  the  time  she  had 
reached  middle  life  she  had  discovered  eight,  five  of 
which  had  never  before  been  observed. 

Meanwhile  her  brother,  from  making  telescopes  turns 
more  and  more  to  using  them,  and  becomes  the  most 
diligent,  resolute,  and  successful  observer  in  Europe  ;  dis- 
covers a  planet ;  becomes  famous  all  over  the  world  ; 
receives  a  pension  and  a  house  from  the  king  of  England  ; 
and  brother  and  sister  go  to  live  in  the  house  near  Wind- 
sor, almost  in  the  shadow  of  "Windsor  Castle,  the  king's 
own  abode.  There  is  not  a  happier  pair  in  the  world 
than  they,  for  it  seems  their  burning  zeal  for  astronomy 
had  much  embarrassed  their  affairs,  and  their  good  for- 
tune came  just  in  time  to  save  them  from  ruin.  So,  at 
least,  Madame  D'Arblay  says,  who  was  then  attached  to 
the  court,  and  occasionally  visited  them. 


306  CAROLINE    HERSCHEL. 

"  Mr.  Herschel,"  she  says,  "  is  perfectly  unassuming, 
yet  openly  happy,  and  happy  in  the  success  of  those 
studies  which  would  render  a  mind  less  excellently  formed 
presumptuous  and  arrogant.  The  king  has  not  a  happier 
subject  than  this  man,  who  owes  wholly  to  his  majesty  that 
lie  is  not  wretched  ;  for,  such  was  his  eagerness  to  quit  all 
other  pursuits  to  follow  astronomy  solely,  that  he  was  in 
danger  of  ruin,  when  his  great  and  uncommon  genius 
attracted  the  king's  patronage." 

Very  soon  Miss  Herschel  had  the  pleasure  of  showing 
her  comet  to  the  king  and  royal  family.  It  became, 
indeed,  a  common  thing  for  the  Herschels  to  be  invited 
to  the  castle  to  display  some  of  the  wonders  they  had 
discovered.  Madame  D'Arblay  once  was  asked  by  the 
princess  Augusta  to  go  into  the  garden  and  take  a  peep  at 
"  Miss  Herschel's  comet,"  and  she  gladly  accepted  the 
invitation. 

"  We  found  Mr.  Herschel  at  his  telescope,"  she  reports, 
"  and  I  mounted  some  steps  to  look  through  it.  The 
comet  was  very  small,  and  had  nothing  grand  or  striking 
in  its  appearance ;  but  it  is  the  first  lady's  comet,  and  I 
was  very  desirous  to  see  it." 

The  same  interesting  diarist  describes  Caroline  Her- 
schel as  very  small  in  stature,  very  gentle  in  her  manners, 
perfectly  modest  as  to  her  acquirements,  as  well  as  frank 
and  ingenuous.  Her  manners  were  those  of  a  person 
unaccustomed  to  the  great  world,  not  at  all  afraid  of  it, 
yet  desirous  both  to  enjoy  and  return  its  good  will.  It 
was  as  though  she  had  said  to  the  princes  and  nobles 
who  came  to  her  house  :  "  I  give  you  a  hearty  welcome. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,  but  my  brother  and  my  telescope 
are  sufficient  for  me." 

"  Are  you  still  comet  hunting,"  Madame  D'Arblay  asked, 
"  or  are  you  now  content  with  the  moon  ? " 


CAROLINE    HERSCHEL.  307 

"  I  have  charge  of  the  moon,"  said  Dr.  Herschcl,  "  but 
I  leave  it  to  my  sister  to  sweep  the  heavens  for  comets." 

But  while  each  had  particular  and  favorite  objects,  they 
worked  habitually  in  concert,  and  they  invented  a  mode 
of  doing  this  with  effect.  The  great  telescope  which  the 
king  enabled  Herschcl  to  construct  was  set  up  in  the 
garden  of  their  house.  When  the  night  was  favorable 
for  observations,  he  would  muffle  himself  up  in  warm 
clothing  and  take  his  seat  at  the  mighty  instrument, 
while  she  sat  in  the  nearest  room,  pen  in  hand,  to  record 
his  observations.  To  facilitate  the  business  they  had  a 
system  of  signs  and  signals  of  such  a  nature  that  the 
record  was  made  instantaneously  and  exactly,  he  having 
his  eye  at  the  telescope,  and  she  hers  upon  the  chronome- 
ter. This  system  was  the  more  important,  as  in  England 
there  are  only  a  very  few  hours  in  a  month  when  good 
observations  can  be  taken.  If  William  Herschel  was 
one  of  the  most  successful  of  astronomical  explorers  he 
owed  very  much  of  his  success  to  the  sympathy  and  the 
intelligent  cooperation  of  his  sister  Caroline.  It  was  a 
common  occurrence  for  her  early  visitors  to  be  told  that 
"  Miss  Herschcl  had  been  engaged  at  the  telescope  all 
night  and  had  just  gone  to  bed." 

Besides  assisting  to  produce  her  brother's  catalogue  of 
stars,  she  published  at  length  a  supplementary  catalogue 
of  her  own,  which  contained  five  hundred  and  sixty  stars 
not  previously  recorded  in  similar  works.  It  was  pub- 
lished at  the  expense  of  the  Royal  -Society,  of  which  she 
was  afterwards  elected  a  member.  Mrs.  Somerville  and 
herself  were  elected  members  on  the  same  day,  two  illus- 
trious ladies,  the  first  of  their  sex  to  win  this  distinction. 

In  1822  her  brother  died,  leaving  one  son,  John,  aged 
thirty-one.  She  was  then  seventy-two  years  of  age. 
Soon  after  the  death  of  her  brother  she  went  back  to  her 
native  Hanover,  where  she  lived  for  the  rest  of  her  life- 

10 


308  CAROLINE   HERSCHEL. 

On  her  ninety-eighth  birthday,  she  was  still  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  her  mental  faculties  and  a  comfortable  degree 
of  health.  That  day  was  celebrated  at  Hanover  with 
e'clat.  A  lady  who  lived  near  her,  wrote  to  her  English 
nephew,  Sir  John  Herschel : 

\  "  Upon  passing  her  door  I  first  saw  a  beautiful  and 
most  comfortable  velvet  arm-chair,  a  cake,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent nosegay  carried  up  to  her,  and  soon  after  met  the 
gracious  donor,  our  kind  crown-princess,  with  the  crown- 
prince  and  the  royal  child,  driving  to  her  house.  They 
staid  nearly  two  hours,  Miss  Herschel  conversing  with 
them  without  relaxation,  and  even  singing  to  them  a  com- 
position of  Sir  William  Herschel,  '  Suppose  we  sing  a 
catch.'  The  king  sent  his  message  by  Countess  Grote. 
On  the  seventeenth  I  found  her  more  revived  than 
exhausted,  in  a  new  gown  and  smart  cap.  I'  ran  over 
(since  writing  the  last  sentence)  to  ask  for  Miss  Herschel's 
own  message,  before  I  send.  I  am  to  give  her  best  love 
to  her  dear  nephew,  niece,  and  the  children,  and  to  say 
that  she  often  wished  to  be  with  them,  often  felt  alone, 
did  not  quite  like  old  age  with  its  weaknesses  and  infirmi- 
ties, but  that  she,  too,  sometimes  laughed  at  the  world, 
liked  her  meals,  and  was  satisfied  with  (her  servant) 
Betty's  services." 

The  cheerful  old  lady  lived  ten  months  longer,  enjoy- 
ing life  to  her  last  day,  January  9,  1848.  She  suffered 
little  even  during  her  last  hours,  and  softly  breathed  out 
her  life  without  an  effort.  The  guns  seven  hours  before 
her  death  announced  the  birth  of  a  princess.  She 
opened  her  eyes  for  the  last  time,  recognized  the  happy 
event,  fell  again  into  sleep,  and  so  passed  away.  Few 
ladies  have  been  either  able  or  disposed  to  sing  a  song 
on  their  ninety-eighth  birthday. 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


XXIV. 

CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

"  T~  WAS  born  a  tomboy,"  wrote  Miss  Cushman  once. 

1  By  tomboy  she  meant  that  she  was  a  girl  who  pre- 
ferred boys'  plays,  and  had  boy's  faults.  She  did  not  care 
much  to  sew  upon  dolls'  clothes,  but  could  make  dolls' 
furniture  very  nicely  with  tools.  She  was  fond  of  climb- 
ing trees,  and  it  was  a  custom  with  her  in  childhood  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  trouble  by  climbing  to  the  top  of  a 
tall  tree.  In  short,  she  was  a  vigorous,  strong-limbed, 
courageous  girl,  who  might  have  been  the  mother  of  heroes 
if  it  had  not  been  her  fortune  to  be  a  heroine  herself. 

In  1816,  when  she  was  born,  her  father  was  a  "West 
India  merchant,  of  the  firm  of  Topliff  &  Cushman,  who 
had  a  warehouse  on  Long  Wharf  in  Boston.  Her  father, 
at  the  age  of  thirteen,  was  a  poor  orphan  in  Plymouth, 
Massachusetts,  though  a  lineal  descendant  of  Robert 
Cushman,  one  of  the  pilgrim  fathers;  a  descendant,  too, 
of  other  Cushmans,  whose  honored  graves  I  have  seen 
upon  Burial  Hill,  in  Plymouth.  Her  father  walked  to 
Boston  (thirty  miles  distant)  while  he  was  still  a  boy,  and 
there,  by  industry  and  good  conduct,  saved  a  capital  upon 
which  ho  entered  into  business  upon  his  own  account, 
which  enabled  him  for  many  years  to  maintain  his  family 
in  comfort.  Many  a  time  Charlotte  played  the  tomboy  on 
Long  Wharf,  in  and  out  of  her  father's  store,  climbing 
about  vessels,  and  getting  up  on  heaps  of  merchandise. 
Once,  in  jumping  on  board  a  vessel,  she  fell  into  the  water, 
and  was  only  rescued  from  drowning  by  a  passer-by,  who 

(311) 


312  CHARLOTTE    CUSIIMAN. 

sprang  in  and  helped  her  out.  Her  deliverer  kept  on  his 
way,  and  she  never  knew  who  he  was  until,  many  years 
later,  when  she  was  a  celebrated  actress,  a  respectable  old 
gentleman  called  upon  her  and  told  her  that  he  was  the 
person,  and  how  honored  and  delighted  he  was  in  having 
been  the  means  of  preserving  so  valuable  a  life. 

Two  things  may  be  said  of  all  true  artists.  One  is, 
that  the  germ  of  their  talent  can  be  discovered  in  one  or 
more  of  their  ancestors.  Another  is,  that  their  gift  mani- 
fests itself  in  very  early  childhood.  More  than  one  of 
her  ancestors  had  wonderful  powers  of  mimicry,  as  well 
as  well  as  a  happy  talent  for  reading  and  declamation. 
One  of  her  grandmothers  possessed  these  gifts.  While 
she  was  still  a  little  girl  Charlotte  had  a  remarkable  power 
of  mimicry.  Besides  catching  up  a  tune  after  once  hear- 
ing it,  she  unconsciously  imitated  the  tones,  gestures,  and 
expression  of  people  she  met ;  and  this  talent  she  pre- 
served to  the  end  of  her  life,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of 
her  friends.  She  was  one  of  those  people  who  can  imitate 
the  drawing  of  a  cork,  and  give  a  lively  representation 
with  the  mouth,  of  a  hen  chased  about  a  barn-yard,  and 
being  finally  caught.  She  could  imitate  all  brogues  and 
all  kinds  of  voices. 

Born  in  Puritanic  Boston,  we  should  scarcely  expect  to 
find  such  a  talent  as  this  nourished  and  cultivated  from 
her  youth  up.  But  so  it  was.  From  her  mother  she 
learned  to  sing  all  the  songs  of  the  day,  and  she  learned 
to  sing  them  with  taste  and  expression.  In  those  days 
almost  every  one  sang  a  song  or  two,  and  a  most  delight- 
ful accomplishment  it  is.  If  ever  I  should  found  an 
academy  I  would  have  in  it  a  teacher  of  song-singing. 
Miss  Cushman  was  so  lucky,  too,  as  to  have  a  good  uncle 
— a  sea  captain — who  used  to  take  her  to  places  of  amuse- 
ment, and  with  him  she  saw  her  first  play,  Coriolanus, 
with  Macready  in  the  principal  part.     She  saw  many  of 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN.  313 

the  noted  actors  and  actresses  of  that  time,  and  the  more 
frequently  because  her  uncle  was  one  of  the  stockholders 
of  the  old  Tremont  theatre.  Through  him,  too,  she 
became  acquainted  with  some  of  the  performers,  and  thus 
obtained  a  little  insight  into  the  world  behind  the  curtain. 

Everything  seems  to  nourish  a  marked  talent  in  a  child. 
One  day  at  school,  in  the  reading  class,  it  came  her  turn 
to  read  a  speech  from  Payne's  tragedy  of  Brutus.  Before 
that  day  she  had  been  bashful  about  reading  aloud  in 
school,  and  had  shown  no  ability  in  it  krhatever.  When 
she  began  to  read  this  speech  her  tongue  seemed  to  be 
suddenly  unloosed  ;  she  let  out  all  the  power  of  her  voice  ; 
and  she  read  with  so  much  effect  that  the  teacher  told 
her  to  go  to  the  head  of  the  class.  Miss  Cushman  always 
assigned  the  birth  of  her  talent  to  the  moment  of  her 
reading  the  passage  from  Brutus.  The  talent  was  in  her 
before,  but  the  glow  of  that  speech  warmed  it  into  sudden 
development. 

After  the  war  of  1812,  commerce,  from  various  causes, 
declined  in  Boston;  large  numbers  of  merchants  with- 
drew their  capital  from  the  sea,  and  invested  it  in  manu- 
factures. Miss  Cushman's  father  was  one  of  those  who 
did  not  take  this  course,  and  when  she  was  thirteen  years 
of  age  he  failed,  and  she  was  obliged  to  think  of  prepar- 
ing to  earn  her  own  livelihood.  Charlotte's  gift  for  music 
suggested  the  scheme  of  her  becoming  a  music-teacher, 
and  to  this  end  she  studied  hard  for  two  years  under  a 
very  good  master.  When  she  was  about  sixteen  years  of 
age  the  famous  Mrs.  Wood  came  to  Boston  to  perform  in 
concert  and  opera,  and  while  there  inquired  for  a  con- 
tralto voice  to  accompany  her  in  some  ducts.  Miss  Cush- 
man's name  was  mentioned  to  her,  and  this  led  to  a  trial 
of  the  young  gfrl's  voice.  Mrs.  Wood  was  astonished 
and  delighted  at  it,  and  told  her  that,  with  such  a  voice 
properly  cultivated,  a  brilliant  career  was  assured  to  her. 


314  CHARLOTTE    CUSHMAN. 

After  singing  with  Mrs.  Wood  in  concerts  -with  encourag- 
ing success,  Miss  Cushman  appeared  at  Boston  as  the 
Countess  in  Mozart's  Marriage  of  Figaro.  Received  by 
the  public  in  this  and  other  parts  with  favor,  she  seemed 
destined  to  .fulfill  Mrs.  Wood's  prediction. 

But  a  few  months  after,  at  New  Orleans,  her  voice  sud- 
denly deteriorated,  and  she  was  obliged  to  attempt  the 
profession  of  an  actress.  She  made  her  first  appearance, 
while  still  little  more  than  a  girl, "  a  tall,  thin,  lanky  girl," 
as  she  describes  herself,  in  the  difficult  part  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth. She  was  obliged  to  borrow  a  dress  in  which  to  per- 
form it,  and  she  played  the  part,  as  she  once  recorded, 
"  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience,  the  manager,  and 
the  company,"  At  the  end  of  that  season  she  came  to 
New  York,  and,  by  dint  of  hard  work  and  earnest  study, 
she  gradually  became  the  great  and  powerful  artist  whom 
we  all  remember.  Her  biography,  by  her  friend,  Miss 
Emma  Stebbins,  reveals  to  us  in  the  most  agreeable  man- 
ner the  secret  of  her  power  as  an  actress,  as  well  as  the 
secret  of  her  charm  as  a  woman.  Here  is  the  secret,  in 
in  her  own  words  : 

"  LTow  many  there  are  who  have  a  horror  of  my  profes- 
sion !  Yet  I  dearly  love  the  very  hard  work,  the  very 
drudgery  of  it,  which  has  made  me  what  I  am.  Despise 
labor  of  any  kind !  I  honor  it,  and  only  despise  those 
who  do  not." 

I  will  copy  two  or  three  other  sentences  of  hers,  to 
show  what  a  wise  and  high-minded  lady  she  was : 

"  The  greatest  power  in  the  world  is  shown  in  conquest 
over  self." 

"  How  hard  it  would  be  to  die  if  we  had  all  the  joys 
and  happiness  that  we  could  desire  here  !  The  dews  of 
autumn  penetrate  into  the  leaves  and  prepare  them  for 
their  fall." 

^  We  cannot  break  a  law  of  eternal  justice,  however 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN.  315 

ignorantly,  but  throughout  the  entire  universe  there  will 
be  a  jar  of  discord. " 

"  To  try  to  be  better  is  to  be  better." 

"  God  knows  how  hard  I  have  striven  in  my  time  to  be 
good,  and  true,  and  worthy.  God  knows  the  struggles  I 
have  had." 

"  Art  is  an  absolute  mistress  ;  she  will  not  be  coquetted 
with,  or  slighted  ;  she  requires  entire  self-devotion,  and 
she  repays  with  grand  triumphs." 

But  the  best  thing  she  ever  wrote  or  said  in  her  life 
was  written  to  a  young  mother  rejoicing  in  the  glorious 
gift  of  a  child. 

"  No  artist  work,"  said  Miss  Cushman,  "  is  so  high,  so 
noble,  so  grand,  so  enduring,  so  important  for  all  time  as 
the  making  of  character  in  a  child.  No  statue,  no  paint- 
ing, no  acting,  can  reach  it,  and  it  embodies  each  and  all 
the  arts." 

That  is  truly  excellent,  and  is  a  truth  which  probably 
all  genuine  artists  have  felt ;  for  art  has  no  right  to  be, 
except  so  far  as  it  assists  the  best  of  all  arts — the  art  of 
living. 

I  remember  this  fine  actress  when  I  was  a  school-boy, 
at  home  from  school,  and  she  was  a  member  of  the  com- 
pany of  the  old  Park  theatre  in  New  York,  acting  for 
twenty  dollars  a  week.  I  remember  her  playing  Goneril, 
in  King  Lear,  with  so  much  power  that  I  hated  her,  mak- 
ing no  distinction  between  her  and  the  part  she  played. 
New  York  was  a  very  provincial  place  then,  and  could 
not  give  prestige  to  any  artist,  and  therefore  it  was  not 
until  she  went  to  England,  and  electrified  the  Londoners 
with  her  powerful  acting,  that  she  made  any  great  head- 
way in  the  world  ;  although  for  years  she  had  maintained 
her  mother,  and  been  the  mainstay  of  the  family.  In 
England  she  made  a  considerable  fortune,  which,  towards 
the  close  of  her  life,  was  much  increased  in  her  native 


316  CHARLOTTE    CUSHMAN. 

land.  She  was  always  glad,  in  the  days  of  herpronperity, 
to  recall  the  period  of  poverty  and  anxiety  which  preceded 
her  great  success  in  England,  when  she  was  living  in  the 
vast,  strange  city  of  London,  with  no  companion  save  her 
faithful  maid,  Sallie  Mercer,  with  no  present  prospect  of 
an  engagement,  and  with  almost  no  money.  The  strictest, 
severest  economy  was  necessary ;  and  she  used  to  relate 
with  great  amusement  and  no  small  pride  the  ingenious 
shifts  to  which  she  and  Sallie  were  driven  in  matters  of 
housekeeping,  and  how  they  both  rejoiced  over  an  occa- 
sional invitation  to  dine  out.  Sallie  herself  bears  wit- 
ness to  their  straitened  circumstances. 

"  Miss  Cushman  lived  on  a  mutton-chop  a  day,"  she  once 
said,  "  and  I  always  bought  the  baker's  dozen  of  muffins 
for  the  sake  of  the  extra  one,  and.  we  ate  them  all,  no 
matter  how  stale  they  were  ;  and  we  never  suffered  from 
want  of  appetite  in  those  days." 

In  spite  of  all  their  economics,  things  went  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  Miss  Cushman  was  actually  reduced  to  her 
last  sovereign,  when  Mr.  Maddox,  the  manager  of  the 
Princess  Theatre,  came  to  secure  her.  Sallie,  the  devoted 
and  acute  (whom  Miss  Cushman  had  first  engaged  on 
account  of  what  she  called  her  "  conscientious  eyebrows  "), 
was  on  the  look-out,  as  usual,  and  descried  him  walking 
up  and  down  the  street  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  too  early  in  the  morning  for  a  call. 

"  He  is  anxious,"  said  Miss  Cushman  joyfully,  when 
this  was  reported  to  her.    "  I  can  make  my  own  terms  !  " 

She  did  so,  and  her  deljut  took  place  shortly  afterward, 
her  role  being  Bianca,  in  Milman's  tragedy  of  Fazio. 
Her  success  was  complete  and  dazzling.  The  London 
Times  of  the  next  day  said  of  it : 

"  The  early  part  of  the  play  affords  no  criterion  of 
what  an  actress  can  do ;  but  from  the  instant  where  she 
suspects  that  her  husband's  affections  are  wavering,  and 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHION.  317 

with  a  flash  of  horrible  enlightenment  exclaims,  '  Fazio, 
thou  hast  seen  Aldohella  ! '  Miss  Cushman's  career  was 
certain.  The  variety  which  she  threw  into  the  dialogue 
with  her  husband — from  jealousy  dropping  back  into  ten- 
derness, from  hate  passing  to  love,  while  she  gave  an 
equal  intensity  to  each  successive  passion,  as  if  her  whole 
soul  were  for  the  moment  absorbed  in  that  only — was 
astonishing,  and  yet  she  always  seemed  to  feel  as  if  she 
had  not  done  enough.  Her  utterance  was  more  and 
more  earnest,  more  and  more  rapid,  as  if  she  hoped  the 
very  force  of  the  words  would  give  her  an  impetus.  The 
crowning  effort  was  the  supplication  to  Aldobella,  when 
the  wife,  falling  on  her  knees,  makes  the  greatest  sacrifice 
of  her  pride  to  save  the  man  she  has  destroyed.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  determination  with  which,  lifting  her 
clasped  hands,  she  urged  her  suit — making  offer  after 
offer  to  her  proud  rival,  as  if  she  could  not  give  too 
much  and  feared  to  reflect  on  the  value  of  her  conces- 
sions— till  at  last,  repelled  by  the  cold  marchioness  and 
exhausted  by  her  own  passion,  she  sank  huddled  into  a 
heap  at  her  feet." 

This  was  the  climax  of  the  play,  and  Miss  Cushman 
was  in  reality  so  overcome  by  the  tremendous  force  of 
her  own  acting,  as  well  as  by  the  agitation  consequent 
upon  the  occasion,  that  it  was  long  before  she  could 
muster  sufficient  strength  to  rise ;  and  the  thunderous 
applause  which  burst  from  all  parts  of  the  house  was 
even  more  welcome  as  granting  her  a  breathing  space 
than  as  an  evidence  of  satisfaction.  When  at  last  she 
slowly  rose  to  her  feet,  the  scene  was  one  which  she  could 
never  afterward  recall  without  experiencing  a  thrill  of  the 
old  triumph.  The  audience  were  all  standing,  some 
mounted  upon  their  seats;  many  were  sobbing;  more 
were  cheering,  and  the  gentlemen  were  waving  their  hats 
and  the  ladies  their  handkerchiefs. 


318  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN. 

"  All  my  successes  put  together  since  I  have  been  upon 
the  stage,"  she  wrote  home,  "  would  not  come  near  my 
success  in  London,  and  I  only  wanted  some  one  of  you 
here  to  enjoy  it  with  me,  to  make  it  complete." 

She  and  Sallie  were  no  longer  filled  with  gratitude  for 
a  chance  invitation  to  dinner.  Invitations  came  in  show- 
ers, and  they  were  overrun  with  visitors.  It  soon  became 
a  joke  that  Miss  Cushman  was  never  in  a  room  with  less 
than  six  people.  She  sat  to  five  artists,  and  distinguished 
people  of  all  kinds  overwhelmed  her  with  attentions. 

"  I  hesitate  to  write  even  to  you,"  she  says  in  a  letter 
to  her  mother,  "  the  agreeable  and  complimentary  things 
that  are  said  and  done  tome  here,  for  it  looks  monstrously 
like  boasting.  I  like  you  to  know  it,  but  I  hate  to  tell  it 
to  you  myself." 

After  a  splendid  career  of  success  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  she  took  up  her  abode  at  Rome,  returning  occa- 
sionally to  her  native  land.  It  so  chanced  that  she  was 
obliged  to  resume  her  Roman  residence  soon  after  the 
war  broke  out,  and  she  deeply  lamented  that  she  was 
called  away  from  her  country  at  such  a  time.  But  she 
bore  her  share  in  the  struggle.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  how 
she  could  have  been  spared  from  her  post  in  Rome,  where 
she  was  the  light  and  consolation  of  the  desponding  little 
American  colony.  In  the  darkest  days,  when  the  news 
from  home  was  of  defeat  following  defeat,  her  faith  never 
wavered  for  an  instant.  She  was  sure  the  Union  cause 
would  prove  victorious. 

Her  countrymen  in  the  city  called  her  "  the  Sunbeam  "  ; 
and  in  after  days  many  of  them  confessed  to  having 
walked  the  streets  again  and  again,  in  the  mere  hope  of 
meeting  her  and  getting  a  passing  word  of  cheer.  A  year 
before  this,  in  London,  she  held  with  her  banker,  Mr. 
Peabody,  a  little  conversation  which  perhaps  displays  her 
feeling  better  than  anything  else.     He  told  her  that  the 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN.  319 

war  could  not  go  on  ;  the  business  men  of  the  world 
would  not  allow  it. 

"  Mr.  Peabody,"  she  replied,  "  I  saw  that  first  Maine 
regiment  that    answered  to  Lincoln's  call  march  down 
State  Street  in  Boston  with  their  chins  in  the  air,  singing: 
'  John  Brown's  soul  is  marching  on,' 

and,  believe  me,  this  war  will  not  end  till  slavery  is 
abolished,  whether  it  be  in  five  years  or  thirty." 

In'  1802,  in  a  letter  from  Rome  written  when  news  of 
the  early  Union  successes  began  at  last  to  be  received,  she 
lets  us  perceive  how  sorely  this  high  confidence  had  been 
tried. 

"  It  has  been  so  hard,"  she  wrote,  "  amid  the  apparent 
successes  of  the  other  side,  the  defection,  the  weakness 
of  men  on  our  side,  the  willingness  of  even  the  best  to 
take  advantage  of  the  needs  of  the  government,  the 
ridicule  of  sympathizers  with  the  South  on  this  side,  the 
abuse  of  the  English  journals,  and  the  utter  impossibility 
of  beating  into  the  heads  of  individual  English  that  there 
could  be  no  right  in  tbe  seceding  party — all  has  been  so 
hard,  and  we  have  fought  so  valiantly  for  our  faith,  have 
so  tired  and  tried  ourselves  in  talking  and  showing  our 
belief,  that  when  the  news  came  day  after  day  of  our 
successes,  and  at  last  your  letter,  1  could  not  read  the 
account  aloud,  and  tears — hot  but  refreshing  tears  of  joy, 
fell  copiously  upon  the  page.  0,  I  am  too  thankful  ;  and 
I  am  too  anxious  to  come  home!  ...  I  never  cared  half 
so  much  for  America  before  ;  but  I  feel  that  now  I  love 
it  dearly,  and  want  to  see  it  and  live  in  it." 

To  live  in  it  Avas  impossible  just  then,  but  the  long- 
ing to  see  it  became  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  She 
resolved  to  return  at  least  long  enough  to  act  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Fund ;  and  in  June,  1803,  she 
sailed  for  home.      Five   performances  were   given — one 


320  CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN. 

each  in  New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and 
Washington — and  were  so  successful  that  she  had  the 
pleasure  of  sending  to  Dr.  Bellows,  president  of  the  Sani- 
tary Commission,  from  the  vessel  in  which  she  left  to 
return  to  Europe,  a  check  for  the  sum  of  eight  thousand 
two  hundred  and  sixty-seven  dollars. 

"I  know  no  distinction  of  North,  East,  South,  or  "West," 
she  wrote  in  the  letter  which  accompanied  this  generous 
gift ;  "  it  is  all  my  country,  and  where  there  is  most 
need,  there  do  I  wish  the  proceeds  of  my  labor  to  be 
given." 

One  more  extract,  taken  from  a  letter  written  to  Miss 
Fanny  Seward  when  the  final  triumph  came,  may  fittingly 
close  Miss  Cushman's  record  as  a  patriot.  It  is  her  song 
of  exultation  : 

"  With  regard  to  my  own  dearly  beloved  land,  of  which 
I  am  so  proud  that  my  heart  swells  and  my  eyes  brim 
over  as  I  think  to-day  of  her  might,  her  majesty,  and  the 
power  of  her  long-suffering,  her  abiding  patience,  her 
unequaled  unanimity,  her  resolute  prudence,  her  ina- 
bility to  recognize  bondage  and  freedom  in  our  constitu- 
tion, and  her  stalwart  strength  in  forcing  that  which  she 
could  not  obtain  by  reasoning.  .  .  .  To-day  my  pride,  my 
faith,  my  love  of  country,  is  blessed  and  satisfied  in  the 
news  that  has  flashed  to  us  that  '  the  army  of  Lee  has 
capitulated ! '  that  we  are  and  must  be  one  sole,  undi- 
vided—  not  common,  but  m*comnion — country;  great, 
glorious,  free ;  henceforth  an  honor  and  a  power  among 
nations,  a  sign  and  a  symbol  to  the  down-trodden  peoples, 
and  a  terror  to  evil-doers  upon  earth." 

After  a  long  period  of  retirement,  she  returned  to  the 
scene  of  her  former  triumphs.  People  wondered  why  she 
should  continue  to  act  during  her  last  years,  when  she 
was  tormented  by  the  pain  of  an  incurable  disease,  and 
when  she  had  a  beautiful  home  at  Newport,  where  there 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN,  321 

was  everything  to  cheer  and  charm  her  declining  years. 
A  single  sentence  in  one  of  her  last  letters  explains  it, 
wherein  she  says : 

"  I  am  suffering  a  good  deal  more  pain  than  I  like  to 
acknowledge,  and  only  when  I  am  on  the  stage  or  asleep 
am  I  unconscious  of  it." 

She  died  at  Boston  in  1876,  aged  sixty.  There  have 
been  a  few  greater  actresses  than  Charlotte  Cushman,  but 
a  better  woman  never  trod  the  stage.  The  very  soul  of 
goodness  dwelt  in  her  heart,  and  inspired  her  life. 


XXV. 

MARIA  MITCHELL. 

PROFESSOR  MARIA  MITCHELL,  the  distinguished 
astronomer,  whose  face  is  so  vividly  remembered  by 
Vassar  students  of  recent  years,  is  of  Quaker  parentage, 
and  a  native  of  the  island  of  Nantucket. 

She  was  born  on  the  first  of  August,  1818,  one  of  a 
numerous  family.  During  her  childhood  she  attended 
with  her  brothers  and  sisters,  the  school  taught  by  their 
father,  who  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  them  his  best 
pupils.  The  little  Mitchells,  quick  and  intelligent  as  they 
showed  themselves  to  bo,  were  as  well  constituted  physic- 
ally as  mentally;  they  romped,  raced,  and  shouted  as 
healthy  children  do.  In  appearance  they  differed  widely, 
some  being  fair-haired  and  of  blonde  complexion,  while 
others  were  strongly  marked  brunettes  ;  but  all  possessed 
the  family  characteristics  of  intelligence  and  perseverance. 
They  were,  as  one  of  them  afterwards  expressed  it,  "  all 
alike  inside."  Maria,  a  brown-skinned,  dark-eyed,  lively 
little  girl,  was  not  considered  by  the  family  to  display  any 
greater  ability  than  the  others,  although  at  the  age  of 
eleven,  while  still  her  father's  pupil,  she  became  his 
assistant  teacher.  Nor  did  she  rate  her  intellectual  gifts 
as  highly  as  without  vanity  she  might. 

"  Born  of  only  ordinary  capacity,  but  of  extraordinary 
persistency,"  she  said  of  herself  in  later  years,  looking 
back  upon  her  career.  But  she  added  with  a  simplicity 
as  rare  as  it  is  pleasing : 

"I  did  not  quite  take  this  in  myself,  until  I  came  to 

(322) 


MARIA    MITCHELL. 


MARIA    MITCHELL.  825 

mingle  with  the  best  girls  of  our  college,  and  to  be  aware 
how  rich  their  mines  are,  and  how  little  they  have  been 
worked." 

Her  education,  both  in  and  out  of  school,  was  of  the 
best  and  most  suitable  kind.  In  the  intelligent  home  of 
which  she  was  a  member  the  news  of  the  day  was  eagerlv 
gathered  and  discussed;  scientific  topics  received  a  fair 
share  of  attention;  and  many  strange  facts,  not  to  be 
found  in  books,  were  related  and  commented  upon.  She 
learned,  moreover,  to  use  her  hands  helpfully  and  skill- 
fully, to  dress  tastefully  but  simply,  and  to  live  con- 
tentedly a  plain,  frugal  life,  brightened  by  study,  affec- 
tion, and  society.  She  had  many  good  friends  upon  the 
island,  and  visitors  of  distinction  who  landed  upon  its 
shores  seldom  failed  to  call  at  her  father's  house,  where  a 
hospitable  welcome  awaited  them,  as  Avell  as  the  pleasure 
of  imparting  whatever  store  of  knowledge  or  anecdote 
they  might  possess  to  a  group  of  curious  young  people 
with  a  gift  for  listening. 

At  sixteen  she  left  school,  and  at  eighteen  accepted  the 
position  of  librarian  of  the  Nantucket  library.  Her  duties 
were  light,  and  she  had  ample  opportunity,  surrounded  as 
she  was  by  books,  to  read  and  study,  while  leisure  was 
also  left  her  to  pursue  by  practical  observation  the  science 
in  which  she  afterwards  became  known. 

Those  who  dwell  upon  the  smaller  islands  learn  almost 
of  necessity  to  study  the  sea  and  sky.  The  Mitchell  family 
possessed  an  excellent  telescope.  From  childhood  Maria 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  use  of  this  instrument,  search- 
ing out  with  its  aid  the  distant  sails  upon  the  horizon  by 
day,  and  viewing  the  stars  by  night.  Her  father  possessed 
a  marked  taste  for  astronomy,  and  carried  on  a  series  of 
independent  observations.  He  taught  his  daughter  all 
he  knew,  and  she  studied  for  herself  besides. 

At  half  past  ten  in  the  evening,  on  the  first  of  October, 


326  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

1847,  she  made  the  discovery  which  first  brought  her 
name  before  the  public.  She  was  gazing  through  her 
glass  with  her  usual  quiet  intentness,  when  suddenly  she 
was  startled  to  perceive  "  an  unknown  comet,  nearly  ver- 
tical above  Polaris,  about  five  degrees."  At  first  she 
could  not  believe  her  eyes ;  then  hoping  and  doubting, 
scarcely  daring  to  think  that  she  had  really  made  a  dis- 
covery, she  obtained  its  right  ascension  and  declination. 
She  then  told  her  father,  who,  two  days  later,  sent  the 
following  letter  to  his  friend,  Professor  Bond  of  Cam- 
bridge : 

Nantucket,  10th  mo.,  3d,  1847. 
My  dear  Friend : — I  write  now  merely  to  say  that  Maria 
discovered  a  telescopic  comet  at  half-past  ten,  on  the 
evening  of  the  first  instant,  at  that  hour  nearly  above 
Polaris  five  degrees.  Last  evening  it  had  advanced  west- 
erly ;  this  evening  still  further,  and  nearing  the  pole.  It 
docs  not  bear  illumination.  Maria  has  obtained  its  right 
ascension  and  declination,  and  will  not  suffer  me  to 
announce  it.  Pray  tell  me  whether  it  is  one  of  Georgi's  ;  if 
not  whether  it  has  been  seen  by  anybody.  Maria  sup- 
poses it  may  be  an  old  story.  If  quite  convenient  just 
drop  a  line  to  her  ;  it  will  oblige  me  much.  I  expect  to 
leave  home  in  a  day  or  two,  and  shall  be  in  Boston  next 
week,  and  I  would  like  to  have  her  hear  from  you  before 
I  can  meet  you.  I  hope  it  will  not  give  thee  much 
trouble  amidst  thy  close  engagements.     Our  regards  are 

to  all  of  you  most  truly, 

William  Mitchell. 

The  answer  to  this  letter  informed  them  that  the  comet 
was  indeed  a  discovery.  Meanwhile  it  had  been  observed 
by  several  other  astronomers,  including  Father  da  Vico 
at  Rome,  and  another  lady,  Madam  Runker,  at  Hamburg ; 
but  Miss  Mitchell  was  able  to  prove  without  difficulty  that 
she  had  been  the  first  to  observe  it.     There  was  another 


MARIA    MITCHELL.  327 

thing  to  be  considered,  however.  Frederick  VI  of  Den- 
mark had,  about  fifteen  years  before  this  time,  established 
a  gold  medal  of  twenty  ducats'  value  to  be  bestowed  upon 
any  person  who  should  first  discover  a  telescopic  comet  ; 
and  this  prize  Miss  Mitchell  might  fairly  claim.  But  the 
provisions  concerning  the  award  required  that  the  dis- 
coverer should  comply  with  several  conditions.  "  If  a 
resident  of  Great  Britain  or  any  other  quarter  of  the  globe 
except  the  continent  of  Europe,"  he  was  to  send  notice, "  by 
first  post  after  the  discovery,"  to  the  astronomer-royal  of 
London. 

Miss  Mitchell,  desiring  to  be  certain  that  her  discovery 
was  indeed  original,  had  omitted  to  do  this,  and  she  was 
therefore  in  doubt  whether  she  might  claim  the  medal. 
But  as  the  intent  of  this  neglected  formality  could  have 
been  nothing  more  than  to  insure  the  medal's  falling  into 
the  right  hands,  and  as  proof  existed  that  she  was  the 
earliest  discoverer,  she  succeeded,  with  the  assistance  of 
Edward  Everett,  who  warmly  took  her  part,  in  obtaining 
her  well-merited  distinction. 

For  ten  years  after  this  event  she  retained  her  position 
in  the  library,  faithfully  discharging  her  duty  toward  the 
institution,  and  at  the  same  time  performing,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  the  government,  much  difficult  mathematical 
work  in  connection  with  the  coast  survey.  She  also 
assisted  in  the  compilation  of  the  American  Nautical 
Almanac. 

In  1857  she  went  abroad  and  visited  most  of  the 
famous  observatories  of  Europe.  She  was  everywhere 
received  with  distinction,  and  acquired  the  friendship  of 
many  of  the  leading  astronomers  of  the  day,  besides 
being  elected  a  member  of  several  important  scientific 
societies.  On  her  return  home  she  had  the  pleasure  of 
finding  that  her  friends  had  caused  an  excellent  observa- 
tory to  be  fitted  up  for  her  in  her  absence,  and  here  she 

20 


328  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

continued  her  astronomical  pursuits  until  the  year  1865, 
when  she  was  invited  to  become  Professor  of  Astronomy 
at  Vassar  College,  in  the  State  of  New  York.  She  did 
not  feel  certain  that  she  could  suitably  fill  this  interest- 
ing post,  and  hesitated  some  time  before  accepting  it.  It 
is  certain  that  the  institution  has  never  regretted  her 
favorable  decision. 

She  at  once  proved  herself  an  excellent  teacher,  and 
the  course  in  astronomy  soon  came  to  be  regarded  as 
one  of  the  pleasantest,  as  well  as  one  of  the  best  that  the 
college  afforded.  It  is  elective  and  informal,  her  classes 
being  the  only  ones  that  are  not  begun  and  ended  at  the 
tap  of  an  electric  gong.  The  course  consists,  besides  a 
few  lectures  in  the  Sophomore  year,  of  regular  lessons 
during  the  Junior  and  Senior  years.  It  is  chiefly  practi- 
cal and  mathematical ;  including,  however,  some  popular 
astronomy.  The  practical  portion  is  that  which  most 
interests  the  professor,  who  is  continually  urging  her 
pupils  to  use  their  eyes.  She  encourages  them  to  make 
use  also  of  the  smaller  telescopes  every  fair  night,  and 
allows  the  Seniors  some  independent  use  of  the  great 
Equatorial  telescope  in  the  observatory.  She  is  apt  to 
display  some  anxiety  on  these  occasions,  however,  and 
seldom  fails  to  warn  a  student  who  is  going  up  to  take 
an  observation,  not  to  hit  her  head  against  the  telescope. 
Her  fears,  as  she  explains,  are  not  for  the  head,  but  for 
the  instrument.  Drawings  of  the  observations  are  inva- 
riably required. 

In  class,  Miss  Mitchell  is  abrupt  but  kindly,  expecting 
and  obtaining  from  each  student  the  best  that  she  can 
do.  With  the  plodding,  modest  girl,  possessed  of  no 
brilliant  qualities,  but  willing  to  work,  she  is  always 
patient,  and  ready  to  give  encouragement  and  assistance. 
To  the  superficial  and  the  conceited  she  shows  little 
mercy,  considering  it  a  part  of  her  duty  to  abate  their 


MAEIA   MITCHELL.  829 

vanity.      She    has,  as    a   Yassar    girl   remarks,  "  little 
patience  with  fancy  theories." 

She  lodges  at  the  observatory  with  one  or  two  assist- 
ants, and  takes  her  meals  at  the  college.  Men  are 
employed  at  the  observatory  only  for  heavy  lifting, 
all  the  intellectual  work  being  accomplished  by  Miss 
Mitchell  and  her  students.  It  is  the  duty  of  one  of  these 
to  photograph  the  sun  at  noon  every  pleasant  day,  and 
daily  observations  are  several  times  taken  upon  the  tem- 
perature, clouds,  and  rainfall. 

Miss  Mitchell's  " Dome  Party"  which  recurs  every 
June  a  few  days  before  commencement,  is  the  unique 
social  event  of  the  college  year.  All  present  and  former 
students  who  are  in  town  receive  an  invitation  to  attend, 
and  are  expected  to  appear  with  mathematical  accuracy 
at  the  appointed  hour.  The  guests  are  received  in  a 
pretty  parlor,  whose  furniture  satisfies  the  requirements 
of  both  society  and  science.  Behind  a  railing  at  one 
end  stand  the  chronograph  and  sidereal  clock,  while 
between  them  in  a  window  framed  with  vines,  is  placed 
a  bust  of  Mrs.  Somerville,  presented  to  the  college  by 
Frances  Power  Cobbe.  Near  by  are  two  tall  bookcases 
containing  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  books,  including 
a  little  of  everything  from  poetry  to  the  Principia. 

When  all  have  arrived  breakfast  is  announced,  and  the 
company  form  in  a  procession,  ranging  themselves  accord- 
ing to  the  year  of  graduation.  Two  large  baize  doors 
then  swing  open,  and  the  party,  mounting  a  short  flight 
of  stairs,  find  themselves  in  the  dome  itself,  with  the 
great  equatorial  telescope  overhead,  pointing  to  the  sky. 
Here  the  repast  is  served,  upon  tables  arranged  in  a 
circle  around  the  walls,  a  rosebud  and  a  tiny  photograph 
of  the  dome  being  laid  at  each  plate.  The  meal  is  pleas- 
ant both  to  the  palate  and  to  the  social  sense ;  but  it  is 
not  until  the  tables  are  cleared  that  the  most  enjoyable 
part  of  the  entertainment  begins. 


330  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

Every  one  receives  a  motto  paper,  containing  a  few 
amusing  lines  about  some  member  of  the  company,  writ- 
ten by  Miss  Mitchell  or  her  assistants.  These  are  often 
witty  but  never  caustic,  and  their  reading  is  productive 
of  much  mirth.  When  they  have  all  been  read,  the  host- 
ess brings  out  a  good  sized  basket  which,  during  the  few 
days  preceding  the  dome  party,  has  been  filled  with  some- 
what similar  effusions,  dropped  in  anonymously  by  college 
poets.  Songs  follow,  by  the  "Pleiades"  Glee  Club,  and 
to  this  impromptu  rhyming  by  those  present  succeeds, 
the  subjects  selected  being  personal  or  scientific,  and  the 
best  verses  composed  are  hastily  set  to  familiar  tunes, 
and  sung  by  a  chorus  of  girls  perched  above  their  fellows 
on  the  movable  observatory  stairs.  Sometimes  the  spirit 
of  poetizing  becomes  so  prevalent  that  no  one  speaks 
except  in  rhyme,  Miss  Mitchell  herself,  whom  all  pro- 
nounce to  be  the  most  delightful  of  hostesses,  bearing  a 
leading  part  in  the  game. 

Beside  her  constant  and  successful  labors  in  teaching, 
the  public  is  indebted  to  Miss  Mitchell  for  several  import- 
ant essays  upon  scientific  subjects.  Until  a  short  time 
ago  she  edited  the  Astronomical  Notes  in  the  Scientific 
American.  These  appeared  every  month,  and  were  based 
on  calculations  made  by  her  students.  At  one  time  also 
she  made  a  journey  to  Colorado  to  observe  a  solar  eclipse. 
At  another  she  had  traveled  as  far  as  Providence  on  her 
way  to  visit  friends  in  Boston,  when  she  learned  of  the 
discovery  of  a  new  comet,  and  at  once  renounced  the 
expedition  and  returned  to  Vassar  to  observe  it.  For 
five  nights  all  went  well ;  on  the  sixth  a  large  apple  tree 
obstructed  her  view,  but  she  promptly  summoned  a  man 
to  cut  it  down,  and  carried  her  observations  to  a  satisfac- 
tory conclusion. 

She  has  always  been  noted  for  her  liberal  and  enlight- 
ened opinions  upon  religious  and  social  affairs,  and  has 


MARIA    MITCHELL.  331 

taken  of  course  deep  interest  in  the  advancement  of  her 
sex.  She  once  read  before  the  Society  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Women  an  interesting-  paper  upon  the  Collegiate 
Education  of  Girls,  a  subject  which  few  people  could  be 
more  competent  than  she  to  discuss.  She  is  a  member  of 
the  New  England  Women's  Club  of  Boston,  which  in  the 
winter  of  1881-2  held  a  reception  in  her  honor,  and, 
moreover,  voted  that  the  same  tribute  should  be  rendered 
to  her  yearly.  The  meeting,  it  was  decided,  should  be 
held  in  the  holidays  between  Christmas  and  New  Year's, 
and  the  day  should  be  called  "Maria  Mitchell's  Day." 


XXVI. 

MRS.  TROLLOPE. 

CINCINNATI,  fifty-five  years  ago,  was  a  city  of  twenty 
thousand  inhabitants.  As  the  center  of  the  grow- 
ing business  of  the  Ohio  valley,  it  enjoyed  a  European 
celebrity  which  drew  to  it  many  emigrants,  and  some 
visitors  of  capital  and  education.  The  Trollope  family, 
since  so  famous  in  literature,  were  living  there  at  that 
time  in  a  cottage  just  under  the  bluff  which  overhangs 
the  town.  Fresh  from  England,  and  retaining  all  their 
English  love  of  nature  and  out-of-door  exercise,  the  whole 
family,  parents,  two  sons  and  two  daughters,  often  climbed 
that  lofty  and  umbrageous  height,  since  pierced  by  an 
elevator,  and  now  crowned  by  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
streets  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Trollope,  her  two  daughters,  and  her  second  son, 
Henry,  then  a  lad  of  twelve,  had  reached  Cincinnati  by 
the  Mississippi  River,  and  were  joined  there  afterwards  by 
her  eldest  son  and  her  husband,  who  was  a  London 
lawyer  of  some  distinction.  In  her  work  upon  the 
"  Domestic  Manners  of  the  Americans,"  the  lady  does 
not  mention  the  motive  of  this  visit  to  America.  We 
have  the  liberty  of  guessing  it.  She  was  an  ardent  friend 
of  Miss  Frances  Wright,  an  English  lady  of  fortune  and 
benevolence,  who  came  to  this  country  with  the  Trollopes 
in  1827,  with  the  view  of  founding  a  Communal  Home 
according  to  the  ideas  of  Owen  and  Fourier.  Miss  Wright 
afterwards  lectured  in  New  York  and  elsewhere,  but  her 
ideas  were  deemed  erroneous  and  romantic,  and  she  had 

(332) 


MRS.    TROLLOPE.  333 

very  little  success  in  gaining  adherents.  She  was  part 
of  the  movement  which  led  to  Brook  Farm,  New  Har- 
mony, and  similar  establishments  founded  on  principles 
which  work  beautifully  so  long  as  they  are  confined  to  the 
amiable  thoughts  of  their  founders. 

It  is  probable  that  Mrs.  Trollope,  without  being  a 
dreamer  of  this  school,  came  to  America  a  sentimental 
republican,  expecting  to  find  here  the  realization  of  a 
dream  not  less  erroneous  than  that  of  Frances  Wright. 
She  was  wofully  disappointed.  In  New  Orleans,  where 
she  landed,  she  saw  slavery,  and  shuddered  at  the 
spectacle. 

"At  the  sight,"  she  says,  "  of  every  negro  man,  woman, 
and  child  that  passed,  my  fancy  wove  some  little  romance 
of  misery  as  belonging  to  each  of  them;  since  I  have 
known  more  on  the  subject,  and  become  better  acquainted 
with  their  real  situation  in  America,  I  have  often  smiled 
at  recalling  what  I  then  felt." 

This  was  one  great  shock.  She  was,  perhaps,  not  les3 
offended,  as  an  Englishwoman  and  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman  of  the  church  of  England,  to  find  that  the 
white  people  were  living  together  on  terms  approaching 
social  equality.  She  found  in  New  Orleans  a  milliner 
holding  a  kind  of  levee  in  her  shop,  to  whom  she  was 
formally  introduced,  and  who  spoke  of  the  French  fashions 
to  the  ladies,  and  of  metaphysics  to  the  gentlemen.  Mrs. 
Trollope  was  not  severely  afflicted  at  this  instance  of 
republican  equality  ;  but  the  free  and  easy  manners  pre- 
vailing on  board  of  the  Mississippi  steamboats  disgusted 
her  entirely,  particularly  the  frightful  expectorating  of 
the  men,  and  their  silent  voracity  at  the  dinner  table. 

And  here  she  fell  into  her  great  mistake.  She  attribu- 
ted the  crude  provincialisms  of  American  life  to  the 
institutions  of  the  country,  and  not  their  true  cause,  the 
desperate  struggle  in  which  the  people  were  engaged  with 


334  MRS.    TROLLOPE. 

savage  nature.  If  she  had  carried  out  her  original  inten- 
tion, and  passed  some  months  with  Miss  Wright  on  the 
tract  of  primeval  wilderness  which  that  lady  bought  in 
Tennessee,  she  might  have  learned  what  it  costs  to  settle 
and  subdue  a  virgin  continent.  She  might  have  dis- 
covered that  when  human  beings  subdue  the  wilderness, 
the  wilderness  wreaks  a  revenge  upon  them  in  making 
them  half  wild.  Many  of  the  arts  of  domestic  life  are 
lost  in  the  struggle.  Grace  of  manners  is  lost.  The  art 
of  cookery  is  lost.  Comfort  is  forgotten.  Men  may  gain 
in  rude  strength,  but  must  lose  in  elegance  and  agrecable- 
ness.  Mrs.  Trollopc,  whether  from  perversity  or  want  of 
penetration,  perceived  nothing  of  this,  and  conceived  for 
the  people  of  the  United  States  an  extreme  repugnance. 

"  I  do  not  like  them,"  she  frankly  wrote,  after  a  stay 
among  us  of  three  or  four  years.  "  I  do  not  like  their 
principles,  I  do  not  like  their  manners,  I  do  not  like  their 
opinions,  I  do  not  like  their  government." 

She  expanded  these  sentiments  into  two  highly  amusing 
volumes,  which  contain  some  pure  truth,  some  not  unfair 
burlesque,  and  an  amount  of  misstatement,  misconception, 
prejudice,  and  perversity  absolutely  without  example.  She 
had  her  work  illustrated  with  a  dozen  or  two  of  carica- 
tures, not  ill-executed,  which  can  now  be  inspected  as 
curious  relics  of  antiquity.  In  America  half  a  century 
ago  is  antiquity. 

But  I  left  the  Trollopes  in  Cincinnati  in  1828,  father, 
mother,  and  four  children.  They  had  then  been  in  the 
country  more  than  a  year,  quite  long  enough  for  Mrs. 
Trollope  to  discover  that  Cincinnati  had  little  in  common 
with  the  republic  of  her  dreams.  She  had  had  enough 
of  America.  IIow  she  abhorred  and  detested  Cincinnati, 
the  first  place  at  which  she  had  halted  long  enough  for 
much  observation !     She  says  : 

"Were   I  an  English   legislator,   instead  of   sending 


MRS.    TR0LL0PE.  335 

Sedition  to  the  Tower,  I  would  send  her  to  make  a  tour  of 
the  United  States.  I  had  a  little  leaning  towards  sedition 
myself  when  I  set  out,  but  before  I  had  half  completed 
my  tour  I  was  quite  cured." 

She  admits  that  everybody  at  Cincinnati  had  as  much 
pork,  beef,  hominy,  and  clothes  as  the  animal  man 
required.     Every  one  reveled  in  abundance.     But — 

'•The  total  and  universal  want  of  manners,  both  in 
males  and  females,  is  so  remarkable,  that  I  was  constantly 
endeavoring  to  account  for  it." 

She  was  sure  it  did  not  proceed  from  want  of  intellect. 
On  the  contrary,  the  people  of  Cincinnati  appeared  to  her 
to  have  clear  heads  and  active  minds.     But — 

"  There  is  no  charm,  no  grace  in  their  conversation.  I 
very  seldom,  during  my  whole  stay  in  the  country,  heard 
a  sentence  elegantly  turned  and  correctly  pronounced 
from  the  lips  of  an  American." 

She  gives  her  recollections  of  the  evening  parties  in 
Cincinnati  sixty  years  ago: 

"  The  women  invariably  herd  together  at  one  part  of 
the  room,  and  the  men  at  the  other ;  but  in  justice  to 
Cincinnati,  I  must  acknowledge  that  this  arrangement  is 
by  no  means  peculiar  to  that  city,  or  to  the  western  side 
of  the  Allcghanies.  Sometimes  a  small  attempt  at  music 
produces  a  partial  reunion ;  a  few  of  the  most  daring 
youths,  animated  by  the  consciousness  of  curled  hair  and 
smart  waistcoats,  approached  the  piano-forte,  and  began 
to  mutter  a  little  to  the  half-grown  pretty  things,  who 
are  comparing  with  one  another  'how  many  quarters' 
music  they  have  had.'  Where  the  mansion  is  of  sufficient 
dignity  to  have  two  drawing-rooms,  the  piano,  the  little 
ladies,  and  the  slender  gentlemen  are  left  to  themselves, 
and  on  such  occasions  the  sound  of  laughter  is  often 
heard  to  issue  from  among  them.  But  the  fate  of  the  more 
dignified  personages,  who  are  left  in  the  other  room,  is 


386  MRS.    TROLLOPE. 

extremely  dismal.  The  gentlemen  spit,  talk  of  elections 
and  the  price  of  produce,  and  spit  again.  The  ladies 
look  at  each  other's  dresses  till  they  know  every  pin  by 
heart ;  talk  of  parson  somebody's  last  sermon  on  the  day 
of  judgment,  on  Dr.  t'othcrbody's  new  pills  for  dyspepsia, 
till  the  "tea"  is  announced,  when  they  will  all  console 
themselves  for  whatever  they  may  have  suffered  in  keep- 
ing awake,  by  taking  more  tea,  coffee,  hot  cake,  and 
custard,  hoe  cake,  johnny  cake,  waffle  cake,  and  dodger 
cake,  pickled  peaches,  and  preserved  cucumbers,  ham, 
turkey,  hung  beef,  apple  sauce,  and  pickled  oysters,  than 
ever  were  prepared  in  any  oilier  country  of  the  known 
world.  After  this  massive  meal  is  over,  they  return  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  it  always  appeared  to  me  that  they 
remained  together  as  long  as  they  could  bear  it,  and  then 
they  rise  en  masse,  cloak,  bonnet,  shawl,  and  exit." 

One  day  of  the  year  in  America  she  enjoyed,  namely, 
the  Fourth  of  July,  because  on  that  day  the  people  around 
her  seemed  to  be  happy,  and  on  that  day  alone. 

"  To  me,"  she  remarks,  "  the  dreary  coldness  and  want 
of  enthusiasm  in  American  manners  is  one  of  their  great- 
est defects,  and  I  therefore  hailed  the  demonstrations  of 
general  feeling  which  this  day  elicits  with  real  pleasure. 
On  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  hearts  of  the  people  seem  to 
awaken  from  a  three  hundred  and  sixty -four  days'  sleep ; 
they  appear  high  spirited,  gay,  animated,  social,  generous, 
or  at  least  liberal  in  expense  ;  and  would  they  but  refrain 
from  spitting  on  that  hallowed  day,  I  should  say  that  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  at  least,  they  appeared  to  be  an 
amiable  people.  It  is  true  that  the  women  have  little  to 
do  with  the  pageantry,  the  splendor,  or  the  gayety  of  the 
day  ;  but,  setting  this  defect  aside,  it  was  indeed  a  glorious 
sight  to  behold  a  jubilee  so  heartfelt  as  this  ;  and  had 
they  not  the  bad  taste  and  bad  feeling  to  utter  an  annual 
oration,  with  unvarying  abuse  of   the  mother    country, 


MRS.  TROLLOPE.  837 

to  say  nothing  of  the  warlike  manifesto  called  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  our  gracious  king  himself 
might  look  upon  the  scene  and  say  that  it  was  good  ;  nay, 
even  rejoice,  that  twelve  millions  of  bustling  bodies,  at 
four  thousand  miles  distance  from  his  throne  and  his 
altars,  should  make  their  own  laws,  and  drink  their  own 
tea,  after  the  fashion  that  pleased  them  best." 

In  the  city  of  New  York  she  found  more  agreeable 
society,  but  even  there  she  thought  the  ladies  were  terri- 
bly under  the  influence  of  fanatical  ideas.  She  sp*ent  a 
Sunday  afternoon  at  Hoboken,  and  describes  what  she 
saw  there : 

"The  price  of  entrance  to  this  little  Eden  is  the  six 
cents  you  pay  at  the  ferry.  We  went  there  on  a  bright 
Sunday  afternoon,  expressly  to  see  the  humors  of  the 
place.  Many  thousand  persons  were  scattered  through 
the  grounds ;  of  these  we  ascertained,  by  repeatedly 
counting,  that  nineteen-twentieths  were  men.  The  ladies 
were  at  church.  Often  as  the  subject  has  pressed  upon 
my  mind,  I  think  I  never  so  strongly  felt  the  conviction 
that  the  Sabbath-day,  the  holy  day,  the  day  on  which 
alone  the  great  majority  of  the  Christian  world  can  spend 
their  hours  as  they  please,  is  ill  passed  (if  passed  entirely) 
within  brick  walls,  listening  to  an  earth-born  preacher, 
charm  he  never  so  wisely. 

"  How  is  it  that  the  men  of  America,  who  are  reckoned 
good  husbands  and  good  fathers,  while  they  themselves 
enjoy  sufficient  freedom  of  spirit  to  permit  their  walking 
forth  into  the  temple  of  the  living  God,  can  leave  those 
they  love  best  on  earth,  bound  in  the  iron  chains  of  a 
most  tyrannical  fanaticism  ?  How  can  they  breathe  the 
balmy  air,  and  not  think  of  the  tainted  atmosphere  so 
heavily  weighing  upon  breasts  still  dearer  than  their  own  ? 
How  can  they  gaze  upon  the  blossoms  of  the  spring,  and 
not  remember  the  fairer  cheeks  of  their  young  daughters, 


338  MRS.    TROLLOPE. 

waxing  pale,  as  they  .sit  for  long,  sultry  hours,  immured 
with  hundreds  of  fellow  victims,  listening  to  the  roaring 
vanities  of  a  preacher  canonized  b}r  a  college  of  old 
women  ?  They  cannot  think  it  needful  to  salvation,  or 
they  would  not  withdraw  themselves.  Wherefore  is  it  ? 
Do  they  fear  these  self-elected,  self-ordained  priests,  and 
offer  up  their  wives  and  daughters  to  propitiate  them  ? 
Or  do  they  deem  their  hebdomadal  freedom  more  com- 
plete because  their  wives  and  daughters  are  shut  up  four 
or  five  times  in  the  day  at  church  or  chapel  ?  " 

But  enough  of  these  specimens.  The  republic  being 
insupportable,  and  Mrs.  Trollope's  Diary  being  still 
incomplete,  it  was  necessary  for  the  family  to  come  to  a 
resolution.  Their  eldest  son,  Thomas  Adolphus,  nineteen 
years  of  age,  was  old  enough  to  be  entered  at  Oxford 
University,  and  it  was  necessary  for  his  father  to  go  with 
him  to  England.  After  family  consultations,  they 
resolved  upon  a  brief  separation,  the  father  and  eldest 
son  to  go  to  England,  the  mother  with  her  two  daughters 
and  younger  son  to  visit  the  Eastern  portions  of  the 
country,  and  fill  up  the  Diary.  That  second  son,  then 
about  fourteen  years  of  age,  was  Henry  Trollope,  after- 
wards the  famous  English  novelist,  whose  recent  death 
was  lamented  in  America  not  less  than  in  England. 

No  sooner  had  they  come  to  this  resolution  than  a  piece 
of  news  reached  Cincinnati  which  induced  the  gentlemen 
to  postpone  their  departure.  General  Jackson,  President- 
elect, was  on  his  triumphal  journey  to  Washington,  and 
was  expected  to  stop  a  few  hours  at  Cincinnati  on  his 
way  up  the  Ohio.  They  determined  to  wait  and  get  pas- 
sage on  board  of  the  steamboat  that  bore  so  distinguished 
a  personage.  Mrs.  Trollope  and  her  family  walked  down 
to  the  landing  to  see  the  arrival  of  the  old  hero,  and  she 
almost  enjoyed  the  spectacle. 

"  The  noble  steamboat  which  conveyed  him  was  flanked 


MRS.  TROLLOPE.  839 

on  each  side  by  one  of  nearly  equal  size  and  splendor ; 
the  roofs  of  all  three  were  covered  by  a  crowd  of  men ; 
cannon  saluted  them  from  the  shore  as  they  passed  by  to 
the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  town. 
There  they  turned  about  and  came  down  the  river  with  a 
rapid  but  stately  motion,  the  three  vessels  so  clo.'C 
together  as  to  appear  one  mighty  mass  upon  the  water." 

Mrs.  Trollope  was  so  happy  as  to  catch  a  view  of  the 
Hero  of  New  Orleans  as  he  walked  bareheaded  between  a 
silent  lane  of  people  on  his  way  from  the  steamboat  to 
the  hotel,  where  he  was  to  hold  a  reception. 
.  "  He  wore  his  gray  hair  carelessly,"'  she  remarks,  "  but 
not  ungracefully  arranged,  and,  spite  of  his  harsh,  gaunt 
features,  he  looks  like  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier." 

Her  husband  and  her  son  conversed  much  with  the 
general  on  board  the  steamboat. 

"  They  were  pleased,"  she  says,  "  by  his  conversation 
and  manners,  but  deeply  disgusted  by  the  brutal  familiar- 
ity to  which  they  saw  him  exposed  at  every  place  on 
their  progress  at  which  they  stopped." 

Mrs.  Trollope  and  her  children  returned  to  England  in 
1830,  carrying  with  her,  as  she  te.lls  us,  six  hundred 
pages  of  manuscript  notes  similar  to  the  specimens  I  have 
given.  They  were  speedily  published,  ran  through  three 
editions  in  three  months,  were  republished  in  New  York, 
and  called  forth  an  amount  of  comment  of  all  kinds,  from 
eulogistic  to  vituperative,  which  has  rarely  been  paral- 
leled. The  work  set  her  up  in  the  business  of  an  author- 
ess. She  followed  it  by  a  very  long  list  of  works  of 
travel  and  fiction,  most  of  which  were  tolerably  suc- 
cessful. 

Both  her  sons  became  voluminous  writers,  and  some  of 
her  grandchildren  1  believe,  have  written  books.  Her 
husband,  too,  is  the  author  of  legal  works  and  a  History 
of  the  Church.     If  all  the  works  produced  by  this  family 


340  MRS.   TROLLOPE. 

during  the  last  sixty  years  were  gathered  together  in 
their  original  editions,  they  would  make  a  library  of  five 
or  six  hundred  volumes.  Several  English  journalists 
have  been  counting  up  the  works  of  the  late  Anthony 
Trollope.  If  at  some  future  time  a  compiler  of  statistics 
should  take  the  census  of  the  people  he  called  into  being 
on  the  printed  page,  it  will  be  found  that  he  was  the 
author  of  more  population  than  some  of  our  Western 
counties  can  boast. 

Anthony  Trollope  was  born  in  1815,  but  as  he  did  not 
begin  to  publish  till  *1 847,  when  he  was  thirty-two  years 
of  age,  he  was  a  public  writer  for  thirty-five  years,  and 
during  that  period  he  gave  the  world  fifty-nine  works,  of 
which  thirty-seven  were  full-fledged  novels.  Some  of  his 
publications,  such  as  his  life  of  Cicero,  and  others, 
involved  a  good  deal  of  research,  and  all  of  them  show 
marks  of  careful  elaboration.  They  give  us  the  impres- 
sion that,  if  ever  he  failed  in  his  purpose,  it  was  not  from 
any  lack  of  painstaking  in  the  author. 

This  amount  of  literary  labor  would  be  reckoned 
extraordinary  -  if  he  had  done  nothing  else  in  his  life. 
When  we  learn  that  until  within  the  last  eight  years  he 
held  an  important  and  responsible  post  in  the  English 
Post-office  department,  which  obliged  him  to  give  attend- 
ance during  business  hours,  from  eleven  to  four,  and  that 
he  was  frequently  sent  on  long  journeys  and  ocean 
voyages  on  Post-office  business,  involving  many  months' 
( ontinuous  absence,  we  may  Avell  be  amazed  at  the  cata- 
logue of  his  publications. 

Of  late  years,  too,  he  was  constantly  in  society,  a  fre- 
quent diner  out,  a  welcome  guest  everywhere,  as  well  as 
a  familiar  personage  in  the  hunting-field.  Hunting  was 
his  favorite  recreation,  as  walking  was  that  of  Charles 
Pickens.  Like  most  Englishmen,  he  loved  the  country, 
country  interests,  and  country  sports.     Fur  many  years, 


MRS.   TROLLOPE.  841 

although  a  stout  man,  difficult  to  mount,  he  rode  after 
the  hounds  three  times  a  week  during  the  hunting  season. 
His  readers  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  he  utilized  his 
hunting  experience  iu  working  out  his  novels.  His 
knowledge  of  horse-flesh  was  something  like  Sam  Wcller's 
knowledge  of  London,  "  both  extensive  and  peculiar,"  for 
he  was  obliged  to  look  sharply  to  the  points  of  a  horse 
destined  to  gallop  and  leap  under  more  than  two  hundred 
pounds'  weight.  A  reader  cannot  go  far  in  his  pages 
without  being  reminded  that  he  was  a  horseman  and  a 
hunter. 

All  this  increases  the  wonder  excited  by  the  mere 
number  of  his  printed  works.  How  did  he  execute  them  ? 
and  above  all,  when  did  he  execute  them  ? 

He  was  often  in  this  country,  mingling  freely  with  lit- 
erary men,  and  he  more  than  once  in  New  York  described 
his  daily  routine.  He  rose  so  early  in  the  morning  as  to 
sit  down  to  write  at  five  o'clock,  and  he  wrote  steadily  on 
until  eight.  He  had  such  complete,  command  of  his 
powers  that  he  could  depend  upon  producing  a  certain 
number  of  pages  every  morning.  He  rarely  failed  to  do 
his  stint.  It  made  little  difference  whether  the  scene 
under  his  hand  was  of  a  tranquil  or  a  thrilling  nature, 
whether  he  was  writing  the  critical  chapter  of  his  work 
or  one  of  its  most  commonplace  portions.  He  wrote  his 
daily  number  of  pages  before  people  in  general  had  sat 
down  to  breakfast,  and  having  done  so,  he  laid  his  manu- 
script aside,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  till  the  next 
morning. 

He  told  the  late  Mr.  George  Ripley  that  he  could  pro- 
duce in  this  way  two  long  novels  per  annum,  for  which  he 
received  (if  1  remember  rightly)  three  thousand  guineas 
each,  or  fifteen  thousand  dollars  each.  This  was  certainly 
doing  very  well,  and  deprives  him  of  any  excuse  for  over- 
working.    One  of  his  friends  writes  in  the  London  Times: 


342  MRS.    TROLLOPE. 

"  We  can  not  resist  a  melancholy  suspicion  that  if  he 
had  relaxed  a  little  sooner  he  might  have  been  spared  to 
us  longer.  Anxiety,  rather  than  actu.al  work,  may  have 
been  injurious,  when  he  began  to  grow  nervous  under  the 
strain  of  keeping  engagements  against  time." 

Not  one  man  in  many  thousands  could  have  lived  his 
life  for  a  single  year  without  destruction.  Nature  had 
given  him  an  admirable  constitution.  He  had  a  sound 
digestion,  tranquil  nerves,  a  cheerful  disposition,  and  a 
taste  for  rural  pleasures.  He  should  have  lived  to  "  four 
score  and  upward." 

America  may  claim  some  property  in  this  gifted  and 
genial  man.  He  used  to  berate  us  soundly  (and  justly, 
too)  for  republishing  his  works  without  paying  him  copy- 
right for  the  same.  I  have  the  impression,  however,  that 
he  owed  his  place  in  the  Post-office,  in  an  indirect  way, 
to  the  American  people.  We  have  seen  above  that  as  a 
boy  of  twelve,  he  arrived  with  his  mother  and  sisters,  on 
Christmas  day,  1827,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
made  with  them  a  three  years'  tour  of  the  United  Stales. 
It  is  possible  mat  he  may  have  assisted  in  the  drawing  of 
the  comic  pictures  with  which  his  mother  enlivened  her 
work  upon  the  "  Domestic  Manners  of  the  Americans," 
and  doubtless  he  nad  his  share  in  the  numberless  anec- 
dotes that  figure  in  its  pages.  The  youth  escorted  his 
mother  to  some  of  those  "large  evening  parties"  which 
she  describes,  where  there  was  u  no  ecarte,  no  chess,  very 
little  music,  and  that  lamentably  bad,"  and  where  u  to  eat 
inconceivable  quantities  of  cake,  ice,  and  pickled  oysters, 
and  to  show  half  their  revenue  in  silks  and  satins,  seemed 
to  be  the  chief  object  of  the  ladies." 

We  are  sure  that  he  passed,  with  his  mother,  those 
"four  days  of  excitement  and  fatigue  at  Niagara,"  where, 
as  she  says,  "  we  drenched  ourselves  in  spray,  we  cut  our 
feet  on  the  rocks,  we  blistered  our  faces  in  the  sun,  we 


MRS.    TROLLOPE.  843 

looked  up  the  cataract  and  down  the  cataract,  we  perched 
ourselves  on  every  pinnacle  we  could  find,  we  dipped  our 
fingers  in  the  flood  at  a  few  yards'  distance  from  its 
thundering  fall."  In  all  these  delights  the  future  novelist 
had  his  part. 

Let  us  hope,  too,  that  he  shared  with  his  parent  the 
pleasure  she  took  in  the  Hudson  River,  in  Manhattan 
Island,  and  even  in  the  city  of  New  York,  a  city  which 
she  really  seemed  to  enjoy.  At  that  time,  1830,  Man- 
hattan Island  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  suburban 
regions  in  the  world.  It  was  dotted  all  over  with  pretty 
villas  and  cottages,  and  showed  many  a  stately  mansion 
on  the  slopes  of  the  two  rivers.  Greenwich,  Blooming- 
dale,  Yorkville,  and  Harlem  were  pleasant  country  vil- 
lages. The  island  was  New  York  and  Newport  in  one. 
Anthony  Trollope  heard  of  these  agreeable  scenes,  and, 
possibly,  shared  the  indignation  of  his  mother  on  being 
charged  by  a  New  York  hackman  two  dollars  and  a  half 
for  a  twenty  minutes'  ride. 

But  how  did  we  render  him  a  pecuniary  benefit  ?  When 
his  mother  published  in  London  her  satirical  work,  it  was 
hailed  by  the  enemies  of  republicanism  with  delight.  They 
seem  to  have  felt  that  American  principles  were  discredited 
forever.  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  the  son  of  the 
authoress  owed  his  appointment  in  the  Post-office  to  the 
favor  in  which  the  work  was  held  by  the  appointing 
power. 

England  had  not  then  reformed  her  civil  service  so  as 
to  make  appointments  depend  on  the  comparative  merit 
of  applicants.  But  she  has  always  known  enough  to 
retain  in  her  service  men  of  intelligence  and  capacity. 
Having  got  Anthony  Trollope,  she  kept  him  during  all  the 
best  years  of  his  life,  and  then  gave  him  honorable  retire- 
ment. It  was  he  who  completed  the  postal  arrangements 
between  this  country  and  Great  Britain,  by  which  it  is 

21 


341:  MRS.    TROLLOPE. 

quite  as  easy,  and  almost  as  cheap,  to  send  a  letter  to 
any  part  of  the  British  empire  as  it  is  from  New  York  to 
Albany. 

That  is  the  substance  of  a  true  civil  service :  first,  get 
a  man,  and  then  keep  him. 

Mrs.  Trollope  died  in  Florence  in  1863,  aged  eighty- 
three  years.  In  private  life  she  was  a  very  friendly  and 
good  soul,  much  admired  and  sought  in  the  society  of 
Florence,  where  she  passed  the  last  twenty  years  of  her 
long  life. 


ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS. 


XXVII. 

ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 

AT  the  tender  age  of  eight  years,  Miss  Phillips  was 
already  an  actress.  She  never  knew  why  her 
parents  chose  that  profession  for  her,  nor  could  she 
remember  her  first  appearance.  Her  earliest  recollec- 
tion of  the  theatre  dated  hack  to  some  play  in  which  she 
was  required  to  jump  out  of  a  window.  She  feared  to 
take  the  leap ;  she  hesitated,  until  an  actor  standing  at 
the  wings  held  up  a  big  orange  before  her  eyes,  an 
inducement  which  she  could  not  resist.  She  jumped, 
was  caught  safely  in  his  arms,  and  received  the  fruit  as 
her  reward. 

Miss  Phillips,  whose  family  ties  all  bound  her  to 
America,  and  the  greater  part  of  whose  professional 
career  was  passed  in  this  country,  scarcely  liked  to 
acknowledge  that  she  was  not  an  American.  She  was 
born  in  England,  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  about  the  year 
1835  ;  her  father  English,  her  mother  Welsh.  When  she 
was  seven  years  of  age  her  family  came  to  America, 
going  first  to  Canada,  and  thence  to  Boston,  where  they 
established  their  home.  It  was  in  this  city  that  the  little 
girl  made  her  debut  in  January,  1842,  appearing  at  the 
Tremont  Theatre  in  the  comedy  of  "  Old  and  Young," 
in  which  she  was  required  to  personate  five  characters, 
and  introduce  several  songs  and  dances.  A  year  later 
she  joined  the  Boston  Museum  and  amused  the  public 
with  her  representation  of  "  Little  Pickle "  in  "  The 
Spoiled  Child,"  and  soon  after  she  was  promoted  to  take 

(347) 


348  ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS. 

part  ill  a  number  of  fairy  spectacles.  With  the  company 
her  bright  sayings,  her  simple  manners,  and  obliging 
temper  made  her  a  favorite. 

"  They  were  so  kind  to  me,"  she  said  in  later  years  ; 
"  they  took  such  care  of  me,  for  I  was  but  a  child  when 
I  first  appeared  there,  so  much  of  a  child  that  I  used  to 
drive  my  hoop  back  and  forth  to  the  rehearsals.  The 
work  was  play  to  me  ;  I  learned  my  parts  easily  and  was 
petted  and  praised,  which  was  very  pleasant." 

She  was  so  much  a  child,  too,  that  one  day  she  arrived 
at  the  theatre  crying  so  bitterly  that  for  some  time  she 
was  unable  to  explain  what  was  the  matter.  Her  trouble 
proved  to  be  that  a  beautiful  doll  in  a  shop  window  that 
she  passed  every  day,  a  doll  which  she  had  set  her  heart 
upon  possessing,  had  that  morning  vanished  from  its 
usual  station.  Somebody  else  had  bought  it,  and  Ade- 
laide was  disconsolate.  It  was  long  before  she  could  be 
comforted,  and  her  happiness  was  not  fully  restored  until 
the  good-natured  stage-manager  presented  her  with 
another  doll,  even  prettier  than  the  one  she  had  longed 
for. 

As  she  grew  older  she  had  many  characters  assigned 
her,  and  worked  faithfully  in  her  profession.  A  farce 
always  followed  the  play  in  those  days,  and  she  frequently 
appeared  in  both.  Often,  too,  she  sustained  a  part  in 
fairy  spectacles  such  as  Fair  Star  and  Cinderella — pieces 
in  which  her  graceful  dancing  as  well  as  her  beautiful 
voice  fitted  her  to  shine. 

Never  but  once  did  she  lose  command  of  her  counte- 
nance upon  the  stage,  and  that  was  in  these  early  days  at 
the  Museum. 

"  It  was,"  she  said,  "  in  some  farce  where  Mr.  Warren 
was  shut  up  in  a  pantry  closet,  while  I,  apparently  uncon- 
scious of  the  fact,  was  playing  the  piano  accompaniment 
to  a  song.     He  suddenly  opened  the  door  and  looked  out, 


ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS.  349 

his  face  revealing  that  lie  had  been  solacing  his  imprison- 
ment by  helping  himself  to  some  of  the  sweetmeats  on 
the  shelves,  and  he  assumed  such  a  look  as  only  he  could 
call  up.  It  was  all  over  with  me  and  my  song ;  fortu- 
nately, the  audience  also  were  too  much  convulsed  with 
laughter  to  notice  my  inability  to  proceed,  until  it  was 
possible  for  the  play  to  go  on." 

Those  who  have  seen  Mr.  Warren  at  his  funniest  will 
not  wonder  at  Miss  Phillips'  loss  of  self-control. 

When  she  was  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age,  her 
parents  and  relatives,  recognizing  the  unusual  power  and 
beauty  of  her  voice — a  rich  contralto — decided  that  she 
would  do  wisely  to  leave  the  stage  for  a  time  and  study 
for  the  Italian  opera.  Her  teachers  had  the  utmost  faith 
in  her  success. 

Jenny  Lind  was  then  in  Boston,  and  Adelaide  Phillips 
was  introduced,  and  sang  to  her.  The  next  day  she 
received  a  friendly  letter  in  which  Miss  Lind  recommended 
Emanuel  Garcia,  her  own  instructor,  as  the  most  suitable 
teacher  for  her  young  friend,  and  added  much  wise  and 
kindly  advice  concerning  the  career  to  which  she  aspired. 
Enclosed  in  the  letter  was  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars. 

In  1852,  Adelaide  Phillips  went  to  London,  and 
remained  there  nearly  two  years  pursuing  her  studies 
under  Garcia.  From  London  she  went  to  Italy,  accom- 
panied by  her  father  and  sister,  that  she  might  better 
acquire  the  Italian  language,  and  receive  the  training  of 
Signor  Profondo  in  operatic  acting.  While  in  Italy  she 
kept  a  journal — a  brief,  business-like  record,  encumbered 
with  very  few  of  the  raptures,  sentiments,  and  gay  non- 
sense that  fill  the  pages  of  most  young  girls'  diaries. 
Here  is  an  extract  from  the  first  entry  : 

"  Mr.  Biandi  came  and  asked  me  if  I  wanted  an 
engagement;  he  had  spoken  of  me  to  one  of  the  agents 
who  wanted  a  contralto.     The  agent  came   accordingly. 


350  ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS. 

I  sang  to  him  '  Pensa  alia  Patria.'  He  seemed  very 
much  pleased  with  my  voice.  The  place  is  Brescia,  in 
Lombardy.  They  offer  four  hundred  dollars  a  month  for 
four  months.  The  first  part  to  appear  in,  Arsace.  Papa 
will  give  an  answer  in  a  few  days.  Mr.  Biandi  brought 
me  the  opera  of  Semiramide  and  gave  me  some  good 
ideas.     I  commenced  studying  Arsace." 

The  offer  thus  mentioned  was  accepted,  and  she  made 
her  debut  at  Brescia.  It  was  customary  that  the  last 
rehearsal  of  an  opera  should  be  in  full  dress,  but  in  a  fit 
of  girlish  obstinacy,  she  refused  to  put  on  the  armor  of 
Arsace  until  the  evening  of  the  performance.  The  direc- 
tors and  musical  critics,  who  were  present  in  force, 
showed  their  displeasure ;  she  retaliated  by  singing 
through  the  part  in  demi-voice.  Her  manager  was  in 
despair,  and  it  certainly  was  a  foolish  thing  for  her  to  do, 
although  she  by  no  means  realized  its  importance.  The 
next  night  the  house  was  crowded,  and  when  she  entered 
as  Arsace,  in  full  armor,  she  was  received  in  silence.  No 
applause  followed  her  recitative  and  andante,  and  it  was 
not  until,  provoked  by  their  coldness  to  the  utmost  exer- 
tion, she  gave  the  caballetta  with  superb  power  and  pas- 
sion, that  the  audience,  unable  to  resist  longer,  broke  into 
a  tempest  of  cheering.  Her  success  was  complete  and 
triumphant. 

Other  engagements  followed ;  then  many  disappoint- 
ments. Whenever  she  sang  she  pleased,  but  she  could 
not  always  find  an  opportunity  to  sing,  and  sometimes 
when  she  did  the  managers  could  not  or  would  not  pay 
her.  Cheers  and  tears  from  the  enthusiastic  Italian  audi- 
ences continued  to  greet  her  wherever  she  went,  and 
sonnets  and  flowers  were  showered  upon  the  stage,  but 
money  was  so  difficult  to  obtain  that  in  1855  she  left  Italy 
to  try  her  fortune  again  in  America.  Her  operatic  debut 
in  this  country  was  made  in  Philadelphia,  once  more  in 


ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS.  351 

the  part  of  Arsace,  and  was  in  every  way  successful. 
Her  popularity  soon  became  assured.  During  the  next 
few  years  she  visited  all  parts  of  this  country,  and 
appeared  successfully  in  Paris  and  other  European  cities. 
In  Poland  she  was  much  struck  by  the  appearance  of  her 
audience,  all  the  ladies  being  attired  in  black.  They 
were  in  mourning  for  their  country.  In  Cuba,  where  she 
learned  to  speak  Spanish  like  a  native,  she  was  received 
with  a  favor  which  she  reciprocated. 

"  My  greatest  artistic  success,  my  true  appreciation," 
she  used  to  say,  "  was  in  Havana." 

During  one  of  her  visits  to  Havana  with  an  opera 
troupe,  a  young  girl  of  the  chorus  with  whom  she  had 
made  acquaintance  during  the  voyage,  was  attacked  by 
the  yellow  fever.  Without  a  moment's  thought  of  her- 
self, Miss  Phillips  went  to  her  and  nursed  her  throughout 
the  whole  of  her  illness.  She  took  the  disease  herself, 
nearly  died  of  it,  lost  all  her  beautiful  hair,  and  was  never 
again  the  strong,  healthy  woman  she  had  been. 

This  was  of  course  an  exceptional  act,  but  her  kindness, 
her  generosity,  and  sympathy  made  her  peculiarly  dear  to 
her  friends.  Her  devotion  to  the  interests  of  her  family 
was  unfailing.  She  was  never  so  happy  as  when  she 
lived  with  her  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  lovely  country 
home  at  Marshfield,  which  she  helped  to  beautify  with  her 
hands  and  her  money.  There  she  loved  to  be,  whenever 
her  arduous  profession  allowed  her  to  rest.  There  she 
watched  the  growth  of  fruit  and  flowers,  spent  half  her 
days  out  of  doors,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  half  a  dozen 
favorite  dogs.  There,  too,  she  gave  occasional  entertain- 
ments, when  her  beautiful  voice,  her  powers  of  mimicry, 
and  her  rare  talent  as  a  story  teller,  were  all  called  into 
play  to  charm  her  guests.  Although  her  heart  was  ill 
tins  quiet  country  place,  and  the  constant  activity  and 
frequent  journeys  which  her    engagements  necessitated 


852  ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS. 

were  often  distasteful  to  her,  she  held  her  profession  in 
honor,  and  loyally  resented  all  imputations  cast  upon  it. 

"  The  actual  work  behind  the  scenes,"  she  used  to  say, 
"  leaves  no  time  for  the  sort  of  things  people  imagine  ;  we 
are  too  busy,  often  too  anxious,  to  attend  to  anything  but 
our  parts.  The  heroes  and  the  heroines  of  the  opera  are 
seldom  the  lovers  they  enact ;  often  quite  the  reverse." 

Nor  did  she  undervalue  the  applause  of  the  public.  It 
was  most  welcome  to  her,  and  she  labored  with  scrupulous 
fidelity  to  deserve  it,  taking  infinite  pains  with  little  things 
as  well  as  great,  never  for  a  moment  inattentive  or  care- 
less. She  learned  from  an  officer  in  the  army  the  best  way 
t3  sheathe  her  sword,  and  for  many  other  such  details  she 
sought  out  and  consulted  those  who  she  thought  would 
be  able  to  instruct  her. 

The  praise  she  most  enjoyed,  however,  was  that  of  her 
friends ;  and  the  most  precious  tribute  to  her  powers  was 
not  that  of  the  critics.  She  always  looked  back  with 
peculiar  pride  to  one  evening  at  an  entertainment  in  a 
fashionable  house  in  New  York,  when  she  sang  "  Kathleen 
Mavourneen  "  to  a  large  company.  While  she  was  singing 
a  young  Irish  serving  maid  entered  the  room  with  a  tray 
in  her  hand,  and  was  so  overcome  with  emotion,  that  for- 
getting her  duties  and  her  deportment  alike,  she  sank 
down  in  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears.  At  another  time, 
at  a  hotel  in  the  mountains,  where  Miss  Phillips  had 
refused  to  sing  in  public,  having  gone  there  in  search  of 
rest,  she  was  found  seated  in  the  kitchen  surrounded 
by  guides  and  servants,  all  crying  heartily  at  her  pathetic 
singing  of  "  Auld  Robin  Gray." 

The  same  magnetic  power  that  characterized  her  sing- 
ing was  exerted  by  her  voice  in  speaking,  when  she  chose 
to  coax  or  command.  Its  influence  was  once  acknowl- 
edged by  a  naughty  little  girl,  who,  having  successfully 
resisted  her  parents  and  relatives,  came  and  seated  herself 
meekly  at  Miss  Phillips'  feet,  saying: 


ADELAIDE   PHILLIPS.  353 

"  You  have  made  me  good,  though  I  did  not  mean  you 
should." 

Miss  Phillips  worked  excessively  hard,  and  after  her 
health  began  to  give  way  she  kept  on  too  long.  She  went 
abroad  with  her  sister  in  1882,  hoping  that  rest  and  change 
would  restore  her.  It  was  too  late  ;  she  died  at  Carlsbad, 
October  3,  1882,  not  fifty  years  of  age.  She  lies  buried 
in  the  cemetery  at  Marshfield  in  Massachusetts,  near  the 
grave  of  Daniel  Webster.  She  was  a  conscientious  artist 
and  high-principled,  too  generous  woman.  There  is  per- 
haps no  vocation  so  arduous  as  hers,  for  a  public  singer, 
besides  serving  an  exacting,  fastidious,  inconsiderate,  and 
capricious  master,  the  public,  is  also  a  slave  to  her  voice. 
She  rests  in  peace  after  a  life  of  arduous  toil,  and  her 
memory  is  dear  to  many  who  knew  her  worth.* 

*  Adelaide  Phillips,  a  Record.  By  Mrs.  R.  C.  Waterston.  Boston, 
1883. 


XXVIII. 

TWO  QUEENS.  THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OP 
ENGLAND. 

IT  is  interesting  to  turn  over  a  chestful  of  old  family 
letters  stored  away  in  a  garret  "which  has  been  closed, 
perhaps,  for  a  century.  There  is  a  lady  living  in  Holland 
called  the  Countess  of  Bentinct,  who  has  long  possessed 
a  rare  treasure  of  this  kind,  a  box  of  old  letters  written 
by  James  II  of  England  and  his  two  daughters,  Mary 
and  Anne,  both  of  whom  reigned  after  their  father  lost 
his  crown  by  turning  Catholic.  Recently,  the  Countess 
of  Bentinct  has  published  these  letters  in  Holland,  and 
now  all  the  world  can  read  what  these  royal  personages 
thought  in  the  crisis  of  their  fate,  in  the  very  years  (1G87 
and  1688)  when  James  was  estranging  all  his  Protestant 
subjects,  and  when  his  daughters,  Mary  of  Orange  and 
the  Princess  Anne,  were  looking  on  and  watching  the  events 
which  were  to  call  them  to  the  throne  of  Great  Britain. 

The  Princess  Mary,  a  beautiful  woman  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  was  then  living  in  Holland  in  the  palace  of  her 
husband,  William,  Prince  of  Orange,  whom  she  devot-" 
edly  loved.  The  Princess  Anne,  married  to  a  son  of  the 
King  of  Denmark,  lived  in  England.  Both  sisters,  if  we 
may  judge  by  their  letters,  were  warmly  attached  to  the 
Church  of  England.  Nevertheless,  upon  reading  Mary's 
letters,  some  uncharitable  persons  might  use  the  language 
of  Shakespeare  and  say,  "  The  lady  doth  protest  too 
much."  As  to  the  King,  her  father,  he  gave  proof  of  his 
sincerity  by  sacrificing  his  throne  to  his  convictions. 
The  first  letter  of  importance  in  this  collection  is  one 

(354) 


THE   DAUGHTERS   OF   JAMES   II    OF   ENGLAND.  355 

written  by  James  II  to  his  eldest  daughter  Mary,  giving 
her,  in  compliance  with  her  request,  the  reasons  why  he 
had  changed  his  religion.  This  letter  was  written  Novem- 
ber 4, 1687,  about  a  year  before  William  of  Orange  invaded 
England  and  seized  the  crown. 

"  I  must  tell  you  first,"  wrote  the  King,  "  that  I  was 
brought  up  very  strictly  in  the  English  Church  by  Dr. 
Stuart,  to  whom  the  King,  my  father,  gave  particular 
instructions  to  that  end,  and  I  was  so  zealous  that  when 
the  Queen,  my  mother,  tried  to  rear  my  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester,  in  the  Catholic  religion,  I  did  my 
utmost  (preserving  always  the  respect  due  her)  to  keep 
him  firm  in  his  first  principles,  and  as  young  people  often 
do,  I  thought  it  was  a  point  of  honor  to  be  firmly  attached 
to  the  sentiments  in  which  I  was  reared." 

He  proceeds  to  tell  her  that,  after  the  dethronement 
of  his  father,  Charles  I,  and  all  the  time  he  lived  an  exile 
in  foreign  countries,  no  Catholic  ever  attempted  to  con- 
vert him ;  and  he  assures  her  that  his  change  of  faith 
began  within  himself.  The  first  thing  that  attracted  his 
attention,  he  tells  his  daughter,  was  the  great  devotion 
that  he  remarked  among  Catholics  of  all  ranks  and  con- 
ditions, and  the  frequent  reformation  of  Catholic  young 
men  who  had  previously  been  dissolute. 

"  I  observed  also,"  he  says,  "  the  becoming  manner  of 
their  public  worship,  their  churches  so  well  adorned,  and 
the  great  charities  which  they  maintained  ;  all  of  which 
made  me  begin  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  their  religion, 
and  compelled  me  to  enquire  into  it  more  carefully." 

Having  reached  this  point,  he  began  to  study  the  doc- 
trines in  dispute,  as  they  were  presented  in  well-known 
books,  and  particularly  in  the  New  Testament,  which,  he 
says,  plainly  reveals  "  an  infallible  Church,"  against 
which  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail.  This  was 
his  main  position,  which  he  fortified  by  quoting  the  usual 


356  THE   DAUGHTERS   OF  JAMES   II    OF   ENGLAND. 

texts.  He  writes  on  this  subject  at  great  length  to  his 
daughter,  and  it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  he  gave  utter- 
ance to  what  he  really  believed  and  warmly  felt.  All 
these  letters,  I  should  explain,  are  written  in  the  French 
language,  which  had  probably  been  the  language  of  the 
family  since  the  time  of  their  ancestor,  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  great-grandmother  to  James  II.  Princess  Mary 
kept  even  her  private  diary  in  French,  wrote  to  her  sister 
Anne  in  French,  and  probably  knew  the  French  language 
much  better  than  she  did  the  English.  In  the  public 
library  at  the  Hague  there  is  a  splendid  English  Bible, 
which  was  handed  to  her  when  she  was  crowned  Queen 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  on  the  title-page  of  which  are 
these  words,  in  her  own  hand  : 

"  This  book  was  given  the  king  and  I  at  our  coronation. 
Marie  R." 

Her  French  is  better  than  this,  and  even  the  spelling 
is  no  worse  than  was  common  among  educated  French 
ladies  of  that  period.  She  answered  the  King's  letter  at 
inordinate  length,  and  employed  all  the  forms  of  respect 
then  used  towards  monarchs,  beginning  her  letter  with 
"  Sire,"  and  always  addressing  her  father  as  "  V.  M.," 
which  signifies  Votre  MajestS.  She  showed  a  good  deal 
of  skill  and  tact  in  meeting  his  arguments,  and  it  is 
possible  that  she  had  the  aid  of  some  learned  doctor  of 
divinity.  Upon  the  question  of  the  infallibility  of  the 
Roman  Church,  she  says  : 

"  I  have  never  understood  that  it  has  been  decided, 
even  by  Catholics  themselves,  whether  this  infallibility 
rests  in  the  Pope  alone,  or  in  a  General  Council,  or  in 
both  together ;  and  I  hope  Your  Majesty  will  be  willing 
to  permit  me  to  ask  where  it  was  when  there  were  three 
popes  at  once,  each  of  whom  had  his  Council  called  General, 
and  when  all  the  popes  thundered  anathemas  against  one 
another  ?  " 


THE   DAUGHTERS   OF   JAMES    II    OP   ENGLAND.  857 

She  argued  this  point  at  considerable  length,  because, 
as  she  remarked,  "  if  the  infallibility  be  conceded,  every 
other  claim  follows  as  a  matter  of  course."  The  King 
ordered  his  ambassador  to  Holland  to  supply  the  Princess 
with  the  best  Catholic  books,  in  which  the  points  of  differ- 
ence were  treated  by  theologians.  This  comm-and  was 
obeyed,  and  the  Princess  dutifully  read  some  of  them,  and 
wrote  her  opinion  of  them  to  her  father.  She  would 
have  made  a  very  good  reviewer,  so  apt  was  she  to  seize 
the  weak  places  of  a  book.  One  of  the  Catholic  authors 
remarked  that  people  could  never  be  convinced  by  insults 
and  violence. 

"  I  must  believe,  then,"  said  she,  "that  the  first  edition 
of  his  book  was  published  before  the  King  of  France 
(Louis  XIV)  began  to  convert  people  by  his  dragoons, 
since  toward  the  end  of  his  work  he  gives  high  praise  to 
that  king." 

The  same  author  objected  to  the  circulation  of  the 
Bible  on  the  ground  that  "  women  and  ignorant  people  " 
could  not  understand  it.  Without  stopping  to  remark 
upon  the  contemptuous  allusion  to  the  intellect  of  her  sex, 
she  observes,  in  reply,  that  "  our  souls  are  as  precious  in 
the  eyes  of  God  as  the  wisest,  for  before  Him  there  is 
no  respect  of  persons."     And,  besides,  as  she  continues  : 

"  God  requires  of  each  person  according  to  what  he  has, 
and  not  according  to  what  he  has  not ;  through  His  mercy 
He  has  left  us  a  written  "Word  which  is  clear  and  exact." 

She  also  quoted  the  texts  relied  on  by  Protestants,  such 
as,  "  Search  the  Scriptures,"  and  others  ;  showing  a  sur- 
prising familiarity  with  the  controversies  of  the  time, 
which  indeed  were  to  her  and  her  sister  of  the  most 
vital  interest.  More  than  a  crown  was  at  stake.  If  their 
father  held  on  his  course,  Mary  might  at  any  moment 
be  called  upon  to  fill  a  vacant  throne,  or  be  the  nominal 
head  of  a  rebellion  against  her  own  father.     Anne,  mean- 


358  THE   DAUGHTERS   OF   JAMES    II   OF   ENGLAND. 

while,  was  full  of  anxiety  and  apprehension.  It  was  her 
cruel  fate  to  become  the  mother  of  seventeen  children, 
all  of  whom  died  in  childhood ;  so  that  for  many  years 
she  lived  in  almost  continual  anxiety,  each  child  bringing 
new  hopes,  which  were  soon  changed  to  apprehension  and 
despair.  At  this  very  time  she  wrote  to  her  sister  from 
her  palace  in  London,  called  the  Cockpit : 

"  I  cannot  say  half  of  what  I  wish  because  I  am  obliged 
to  return  immediately  to  my  poor  child,  for  I  am  more 
anxious  when  I  am  absent  from  her." 

It  was  nearly  twenty  years  before  she  ceased  to  hope. 
All  her  children  perished  in  infancy  except  one,  who 
lived  to  be  eleven  years  old ;  so  that  the  sentence  just 
quoted  represents  a  great  part  of  the  history  of  her 
married  life.  In  October,  1688,  William,  Prince  of 
Orange,  with  a  fleet  of  six  hundred  vessels,  sailed  for 
England,  leaving  his  wife  in  Holland  to  pray  for  his  suc- 
cess. She  relates  in  her  diary  the  manner  of  their  part- 
ing, which  was  certainly  peculiar. 

"  In  case,"  said  the  Prince,  "  it  pleases  God  that  I 
never  more  see  you,  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  marry 
again." 

These  words,  she  says,  surprised  her  and  rent  her 
heart. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  continued  the  Prince,  "  for  me  to 
tell  you  not  to  marry  a  Papist." 

On  uttering  these  words  he  burst  into  tears,  and  as 
soon  as  he  could  command  his  voice  he  assured  her  that 
it  was  only  his  anxiety  for  the  reformed  religion  which 
made  him  speak  as  he  had  done.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  reply.     But  at  last  she  said  : 

"  I  have  never  loved  any  one  but  you,  and  should  not 
know  how  to  love  another.  Besides,  as  I  have  been 
married  so  many  years  without  having  the  blessing  of  a 
child,  I  believe  that  that  is  sufficient  to  exempt  me  from 
ever  thinking  of  what  you  propose." 


THE   DAUGHTERS   OF  JAMES   II   OF   ENGLAND.  359 

She  accompanied  the  Prince  to  his  ship  and  saw  the 
fleet  set  sail.  A  month  passed  before  she  heard  news  of 
him,  during  which  she  spent  most  of  her  time  in  public 
and  private  prayers,  as  did  also  all  her  court,  and  a  great 
number  of  the  people  of  Holland. 

"  Every  morning,"  she  records,  "  I  attended  the  French 
prayers  which  were  held  in  my  own  house.  At  noon,  I 
joined  in  the  English  prayers ;  and  at  five  in  the  after- 
noon, I  attended  church  to  hear  a  sermon  ;  at  half-past 
seven  in  the  evening,  I  was  present  at  evening  prayers. 
All  this  I  did  constantly,  God  by  His  grace  giving  me 
health  to  be  able  to  do  it.  Every  Friday  we  had  a  par- 
ticular solemnity  in  my  house,  where  I  then  had  an  Eng- 
lish sermon  preached.  But  my  enemy,  the  devil,  found 
means  to  stir  up  within  me  scruples  and  fears,  causing 
me  to  apprehend  that  by  all  these  public  devotions  I  was 
attracting  the  praises  of  men,  and  that  that  would  excite 
my  vanity.  I  feared  also  that  if  I  should  abstain  from 
them  and  remain  at  home,  I  should  not  give  them  that 
good  example  and  encouragement  to  devotion  which  was 
my  duty  in  the  rank  in  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  place 
me.  Hence,  whether  I  went  to  prayers  or  abstained, 
I  saw  something  to  fear.  Nevertheless,  thanks  be  to 
God,  I  resolved  to  do  my  duty  without  troubling  myself 
as  to  the  consequences." 

During  that  month  of  suspense,  the  Princess  received 
no  company.  When  at  length  she  was  assured  that  her 
husband  had  made  a  safe  landing,  she  resumed  her  recep- 
tions, four  days  in  the  week,  at  which,  however,  as  she 
herself  records,  "  I  did  not  play  at  cards."  A  young 
lady  has  seldom  been  so  cruelly  situated  as  she  was  then ; 
her  husband  having  invaded  the  dominions  of  her  father 
with  the  deliberate  intention  to  drive  him  from  his  throne 
and  country.  It  is  evident  from  these  letters  that  she 
had  no  scruples  of  conscience  in  tho  matter,  but  gave  all 


360  THE    DAUGHTERS   OF   JAMES   II    OP   ENGLAND. 

her  heart  and  approval  to  her  husband.  She  opposed  her 
father,  not  merely  because  he  was  a  Catholic,  but  wished 
to  make  England  Catholic.  She  believed  that  he  was 
trying  to  pass  off  upon  the  people  of  England  a  spurious 
child,  who  would  continue  the  work  which  he  had  begun, 
and  fasten  upon  Great  Britain  a  line  of  Catholic  kings. 

Success  rewarded  the  efforts  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  Mary  joined  him  in  England.  In 
April,  1689,  William  and  Mary  were  crowned  at  West- 
minster Abbey,  King  and  Queen  of  England.  As  she  was 
not  merely  Queen  by  right  of  marriage,  but  by  right  of 
birth,  she  was  crowned  in  all  respects  as  a  monarch,  being 
girt  with  a  sword,  placed  upon  the  throne,  and  presented 
with  a  Bible,  a  pair  of  spurs,  and  a  small  globe. 

The  gracious  manners  of  Queen  Mary,  her  pronounced 
piety,  and  her  noble  presence  went  far  towards  reconcil- 
ing the  people  to  the  ungenial  demeanor  of  her  husband. 
It  was  she  who  introduced  into  England  the  taste  for 
collecting  china,  which  has  been  often  since  revived,  and 
which  prevails  even  at  this  day.  She  continued  to  write 
letters  to  her  old  friends  in  Holland,  and  to  make  entries 
into  her  diary,  some  of  which  are  printed  in  the  volume 
under  consideration.  Her  husband  did  not  find  Ireland 
so  easy  to  conquer  as  England,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
summer  of  1691  that  the  Catholic  Irish  were  finally  sub- 
dued. When  the  news  of  victory-  reached  England,  the 
churches  opened,  and  the  people  thronged  to  them  to  offer 
thanks  to  God.  Queen  Mary,  at  the  Palace  of  Kensing- 
ton, wrote  thus  in  her  diary : 

"  What  thanks  ought  I  to  render,  0  my  soul,  to  thy 
Lord  for  all  His  bounties  ?  They  are  indeed  new  every 
morning,  and  I  can  well  say :  it  is  of  thy  mercy,  0  Lord, 
that  we  are  not  consumed,  for  Thy  mercy  endureth  for- 
ever. But  what  are  we,  thy  poor  sinful  people  of  this 
country,  Avhat  is  my  husband,  and  what  am  I,  that  we 


THE   DAUGHTERS   OF   JAMES    II    0?   ENGLAND.  3  >1 

should  receive  so  many  favors  ?  0  my  God,  to  thee  be  all 
the  glory  !  May  we  learn  to  humble  ourselves  truly 
before  Him,  and  may  all  those  poor  people  in  Ireland,  as 
well  as  ourselves  here,  being  delivered  from  our  enemies, 
serve  Thee  in  holiness  and  justice  all  the  days  of  our 
lives ! " 

Queen  Mary  did  not  long  enjoy  her  royal  state.  At. 
the  early  age  of  thirty-two,  in  the  very  bloom  and  lustre 
of  her  maturity,  she  was  seized  with  small-pox,  and  died 
in  a  few  days.  The  King,  her  husband,  was  led,  almost 
insensible,  from  the  chamber  of  death,  and  when  he 
died,  eight  years  after,  a  gold  ring,  containing  a  lock  of 
Mary's  hair,  was  found  next  to  his  person  suspended  by 
a  black  silk  ribbon.  The  childless  Anne  then  succeeded 
to  the  throne.  So  much  for  this  box  of  royal  letters, 
now  opened  for  the  first  time  in  this  country. 

22 


XXIX. 

AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 

IT  was  the  evening  of  May  29, 1839,  when  this  supper 
occurred,  of  which  the  reader,  after  the  lapse  of 
thirty-eight  years,  is  invited  to  partake.  Mademoiselle 
Rachel  had  performed  in  Voltaire's  tragedy  of  "  Tancrdde" 
to  a  crowded  and  enraptured  audience,  for  she  was  then 
in  the  flush  of  her  first  celebrity,  only  eleven  months 
having  elapsed  since  her  first  appearance  in  classic 
tragedy. 

The  real  name  of  this  "  sublime  child,"  as  the  French 
poets  love  to  style  her,  was  Elizabeth  Rachel  Felix,  and 
she  was  born  in  Switzerland,  the  daughter  of  a  Jewish 
peddler.  In  her  early  days  she  used  to  sing  in  the  cafes 
of  Paris,  accompanying  herself  on  an  old  guitar.  She 
was  about  eleven  years  of  age  when  her  voice  caught  the 
ear  of  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Royal  Conservatory  of 
Music,  who  placed  her  in  one  of  its  classes,  and  agreed 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  her  education.  Her  voice  not 
proving  to  be  as  promising  as  her  benefactor  imagined,  he 
procured  an  admission  for  her  into  a  declamation  class, 
where  her  wonderful  talent  was  trained  and  developed. 

She  made  her  first  appearance  at  the  Theatre  Franc.ais, 
in  September,  1838,  and  she  was  speedily  accepted  as  the 
first  actress  of  the  age.  The  fortunes  of  the  theater, 
which  had  been  at  the  lowest  ebb,  were  restored,  and  her 
father  demanded  for  her,  and  in  time  obtained,  a  revenue 
of  eighty  thousand  francs  per  annum. 

It  was  a  night,  as  I  have  just  said,  of  Voltaire's 
(362) 


AN   EVENING   WITH   RACHEL.  363 

"  Tancr&de,"  in  which  she  played  the  part  of  the  heroine, 
Amenaide,  the  beloved  of  Tancrede,  a  part  in  which  she 
produced  thrilling  effects.  In  the  audience,  on  that  occa- 
sion, sat  Alfred  de  Musset,  one  of  the  most  admired  of 
recent  .French  poets,  who  had  been  for  some  time  a  friend 
of  the  new  actress  and  of  her  family,  as  well  as  one  of 
the  warmest  appreciators  of  her  genius.  At  the  end  of 
an  act  he  went  behind  the  scenes  to  compliment  her  upon 
the  beauty  and  fitness  of  her  costume.  Toward  the  close 
of  the  play  she  was  to  read  a  letter  from  her  lover, 
mortally  wounded  upon  the  field  of  battle,  who  was  dying 
under  the  impression  that  she  had  betrayed  him.  The 
letter  runs  thus : 

"  I  could  not  survive  your  perfidy.  I  die  on  the  battle- 
field, but  I  die  of  wounds  inflicted  by  you.  I  wished, 
cruel  woman,  in  exposing  myself  for  you,  to  save  at  once 
your  glory  and  your  life." 

Never  before  had  she  read  this  letter  with  such  tender 
pathos ;  and  she  said  afterwards  that  she  had  been  moved 
to  such  a  degree  herself,  that  she  could  scarcely  go  on 
with  the  part.  At  ten  o'clock  the  play  ended,  for  a 
French  tragedy  only  lasts  about  an  hour  and  a  half.  De 
Musset  on  leaving  the  theater  met  her  by  chance  in  the 
street,  going  home  with  one  of  her  friends,  and  followed 
by  a  crowd  of  her  special  admirers,  members  of  the  press, 
artists,  and  others.  The  poet  saluted  her,  and  she 
responded  by  saying : 

"  Come  home  to  supper  with  us." 

So  he  joined  the  throng,  and  they  were  soon  all  seated 
in  her  parlor  —  Rachel,  her  sister  Sarah,  their  mother, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  and  several  others.  The  events  of  the 
evening  were  afterwards  recorded  by  the  poet,  as  he  says, 
"  with  the  exactness  of  shorthand,"  and  the  narrative 
has  been  published  since  his  death  in  a  volume  of  his 
last  writings  and  familiar  letters.     After  some  trifling 


364  AN   EVENING   WITH   RACHEL. 

conversation,  Rachel  discovered  that  she  had  left  her 
rings  and  bracelets  at  the  theater,  and  she  sent  her  ser- 
vant back  for  them.  But  she  had  only  one  servant,  and, 
behold !  there  was  no  one  to  get  the  supper  ready. 
Rachel,  nothing  abashed,  took  off  some  of  her  finery,  put 
on  a  dressing  sacque  and  night  cap,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen.  Fifteen  minutes  passed.  She  reappeared,  "  as 
pretty  as  an  angel,"  carrying  a  dish  in  which  were  three 
beefsteaks  cooked  by  herself.  She  placed  the  dish  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  gaily  said : 

"  Regale ! " 

She  then  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  returned  with 
a  tureen  of  smoking  soup  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
a  saucepan  full  of  spinach.  That  was  the  supper.  No 
plates,  no  spoons ;  for  the  servant  had  carried  away  the 
keys  of  the  cupboard.  Rachel  opened  the  sideboard, 
found  a  salad  dish  full  of  salad,  discovered  one  plate,  took 
some  salad  with  the  wooden  salad  spoon,  sat  down  and 
began  to  eat. 

"  But,"  cried  her  mother,  who  was  very  hungry, "  there 
are  some  brass  platters  in  the  kitchen." 

Rachel  dutifully  brought  them  and  distributed  them 
among  the  guests ;  and  while  they  were  eating,  as  best 
they  could,  the  following  conversation  took  place : 

Mother — My  dear,  your  steaks  are  overdone. 

Rachel — It  is  true  ;  they  are  as  hard  as  wood.  When 
I  did  our  housekeeping  I  was  a  better  cook.  It  is  one 
talent  the  less.  No  matter ;  I  have  lost  on  one  side,  but 
I  have  gained  on  the  other.     You  don't  eat,  Sarah. 

Sarah — No,  I  cannot  eat  from  brass  plates. 

Rachel — Oh!  It  is  since  I  bought  a  dozen  silver  plates 
with  my  savings  that  you  can  no  longer  endure  brass ! 
If  I  become  richer,  you  will  want  one  servant  behind  your 
chair  and  another  before  it.  Never  will  I  turn  those  old 
platters  out  of  our  house.  They  have  served  us  too  long 
for  that.     Haven't  they,  mother  ? 


AN   EVENING   WITH   RACHEL.  365 

Mother  (Tier  mouth  full) — What  do  you  say,  child  ? 

Rachel  (to  the  poet) — Just  think ;  when  I  played  at 
the  Theater  Moliere,  I  had  only  two  pairs  of  stockings, 
and  every  morning — 

Here  Sarah  began  to  gabble  German,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent her  sister  from  going  on  with  her  story. 

Rachel — No  German  here !  There  is  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of !  I  had,  I  say,  only  two  pairs  of  stockings, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  wash  one  pair  every  morning  to 
wear  on  the  stage.  That  pair  was  hanging  in  my  room 
upon  a  clothes  horse,  while  I  wore  the  other  pair. 

The  Poet — And  you  did  the  housekeeping  ? 

Rachel — I  was  up  at  six  every  morning,  and  by  eight 
all  the  beds  were  made.  Then  I  went  to  market  to  buy 
our  dinner. 

The  Poet — And  did  you  keep  a  little  change  out  of  the 
market  money  ? 

Rachel — No.  I  was  a  very  honest  cook.  Was  I  not, 
mother  ? 

Mother  (still  stuffing) — 0,  yes ;  that  you  were  indeed. 

Rachel — Once  only  I  was  a  thief  for  a  month.  When 
I  bought  four  sous'  worth,  I  called  it  five,  and  when  I 
paid  ten  sous  I  put  it  down  twelve.  At  the  end  of  the 
month  I  found  myself  mistress  of  three  francs. 

The  Poet  (in  a  severe  tone) — Mademoiselle,  what  did 
you  do  with  those  three  francs  ? 

Rachel  was  silent. 

Mother — She  bought  the  works  of  Moliere  with  them. 

The  Poet — Did  you,  really  ? 

Rachel — Yes,  indeed.  I  had  already  a  Corneille  and  a 
Racine ;  I  had  to  have  a  Moliere.  I  bought  it  with  my 
three  francs,  and  then  I  confessed  my  crimes. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  some  of  the  company 
rose  to  go,  and  soon  all  the  guests  departed,  except  De 
Musset,  and  two  or  three  intimate  friends.     The  servant 


366  AN   EVENING   WITH   RACHEL. 

returned  from  the  theater  and  placed  upon  the  table  some 
brilliant  rings,  two  magnificent  bracelets  and  a  golden 
coronet,  many  thousand  francs'  worth  of  jewelry,  all  glit- 
tering in  the  midst  of  the  brass  plates  and  the  remains  of 
the  supper.  The  poet,  meanwhile,  startled  at  the  idea  of 
her  keeping  house,  working  in  the  kitchen,  making  beds, 
and  undergoing  the  fatigues  incident  to  poverty,  looked 
at  her  hands,  fearing  to  find  them  ugly  or  spoiled.  He 
observed,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  were  small,  white, 
and  plump,  with  the  slenderest  fingers.  She  had  the 
hands  of  a  princess. 

Her  sister  Sarah,  who  did  not  eat,  continued  to  scold 
in  German.  That  morning,  indeed,  she  had  been  guilty 
of  some  escapade  a  little  too  far  from  the  maternal  wing, 
and  she  had  obtained  her  pardon  and  her  place  at  the 
table  only  in  consequence  of  her  sister's  entreaties. 

Rachel  {replying  to  the  German  growls) — You  plague 
me !  For  my  part,  I  like  to  recall  my  youth.  I  remem- 
ber that  one  day  I  wanted  to  make  some  punch  in  one  of 
these  very  brass  plates.  I  held  my  plate  over  a  candle, 
and  it  melted  in  my  hand.  Speaking  of  that,  Sophie, 
bring  me  some  cherry  brandy.  Let  us  have  some  punch. 
There  !  I  have  had  enough.     I  have  done  my  supper. 

The  maid  returned,  bringing  a  bottle. 

Mother — Sophie  has  made  a  mistake.  That  is  a  bottle 
of  absinthe. 

The  Poet — Give  me  a  little  of  it. 

Rachel — 0,  how  glad  I  should  be  to  have  you  take  some- 
thing in  our  house. 

Mother — They  say  that  absinthe  is  very  wholesome. 

The  Poet — Not  at  all.     It  is  pernicious  and  detestable. 

Sarah — Then  why  do  you  ask  for  some  ? 

The  Poet — In  order  to  have  it  to  say  that  I  took  some- 
thing here. 

Rachel — I  .rish  to  drink  a  little  of  it. 


f.  AN    EVENING   "WITH   KACHEL.  367 

So  saying,  she  poured  some  absinthe  into  a  glass  of 
water  and  drank  it.  They  brought  her  a  silver  bowl,  into 
which  she  put  sugar  and  cherry  brandy,  after  which  she 
set  fire  to  her  punch,  and  made  it  blaze. 

Rachel — I  love  that  blue  flame. 

The  Poet — It  is  much  prettier  when  there  is  no  light  in 
the  room. 

Rachel — Sophie,  take  away  the  candles. 

Mother — Not  at  all ;  not  at  all !  What  an  idea  ! 

Rachel  (aside) — This  is  unsupportable  !  Pardon,  dear 
mother;  you  are  good,  you  are  charming  (kissing  her)  ; 
but  I  want  Sophie  to  carry  away  the  candles. 

Upon  this,  the  poet  himself  took  the  two  candles  and 
put  them  under  the  table,  which  produced  the  effect  of 
twilight.  The  mother,  by  turns  green  and  blue  from  the 
glimmer  of  the  blazing  punch,  leveled  her  eyes  upon  De 
Musset,  and  watched  all  his  movements.  He  put  the 
caudles  back  upon  the  table. 

A  Flatterer — Mademoiselle  Rabat  was  not  beautiful 
this  evening. 

The  Poet — You  are  hard  to  please.  I  thought  her 
pretty  enough. 

Another  Flatterer — She  has  no  intelligence. 

Rachel — Why  do  you  say  that  ?  She  is  not  so  stupid 
as  many  others  ;  and,  besides,  she  is  a  good  girl.  Let 
her  alone.  I  do  not  like  to  have  my  comrades  spoken  of 
in  that  way. 

The  punch  was  ready.  Rachel  filled  the  glasses  and 
handed  them  about  to  the  company.  She  poured  the  rest 
of  the  punch  into  a  sou])  plate,  and  began  to  drink  it  with 
a  spoon.  Then  she  took  the  poet's  cane,  drew  the  sword 
from  it,  and  picked  her  teeth  with  the  point. 

Here  ended,  for  that  evening,  all  common  talk  and 
child's  play.  A  single  word  sufficed  to  change  the  char- 
acter of  the  scene,  and  to  convert  this  unformed  child 
into  an  artist. 


3G8  AN   EVENING   WITH    RACHEI 

The  Poet — How  you  read  that  letter,  this  evening ! 
You  were  really  moved. 

Rachel — Yes ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  something  within 
me  was  going  to  give  way.  But  it  is  no  matter  ;  I  do 
not  like  that  piece  much.     It  is  false. 

The  Poet — Do  you  prefer  the  plays  of  Corneille  and 
Racine  ? 

Rachel — I  like  Corneille  very  much  ;  and  yet,  he  is 
sometimes  trivial,  sometimes  bombastic.  He  .comes  short 
of  the  truth. 

The  Poet — 0  !  gently,  mademoiselle ! 

Rachel — Let  us  see.  When  in  Horace,  for  example, 
Sabine  says :  "  One  can  change  a  lover,  but  not  a  hus- 
band ;  "  well,  I  don't  like  it.     It  is  gross. 

The  Poet — You  will  confess,  at  least,  that  it  is  true. 

Rachel — Yes  ;  but  is  it  worthy  of  Corneille  ?  Talk  to 
me  of  Racine  !  There  is  a  man  I  adore !  All  that  he 
says  is  so  beautiful,  so  true,  so  noble. 

The  Poet — Speaking  of  Racine,  do  you  remember 
receiving  some  time  ago  an  anonymous  letter  which  gave 
you  advice  respecting  the  last  scene  in  "  Mithridate  "  ? 

Rachel — Perfectly  ;  I  followed  the  advice  given  me,  and 
ever  since  I  have  always  been  applauded  in  that  scene. 
Do  you  know  the  person  that  wrote  to  me  ? 

The  Poet — Very  well ;  she  is  the  woman  in  all  Paris 
who  has  the  greatest  mind  and  the  smallest  foot.  What 
part  are  you  studying  now  ? 

Rachel — We  are  going  to  play  this  summer,  "  Marie 
Stuart,"  and  afterwards,  "  Polyeucte,"  and,  perhaps — 

The  Poet— Well  ? 

Rachel  (striking  the  table) — Well,  I  wish  to  play 
Phedre!  They  tell  me  I  am  too  young,  that  I  am  too 
thin,  and  a  hundred  other  follies.  I  simply  reply  :  It  is 
the  most  beautiful  role  of  Racine ;  I  aspire  to  play  it. 

Sarah — My  dear,  perhaps  you  are  wrong. 


AN   EVENING   WITH   RACHEL.  369 

Rachel — Never  mind  !  If  people  think  that  I  am  too 
young,  and  that  the  part  is  not  suitable  to  me,  what  then, 
parbleul  There  were  many  who  thought  the  same  when 
I  played  JRoxane;  and  what  harm  did  it  do  me  ?  If  they 
say  I  am  too  thin,  I  maintain  that  it  is  a  betise.  A  woman 
who  has  an  infamous  passion,  but  dies  rather  than  yield 
to  it ;  a  woman  who  has  been  dried  up  in  the  fires  of 
affliction,  such  a  woman  cannot  have  a  chest  like  Madam 
Paradol.  It  would  be  a  contradiction  in  nature.  I  have 
read  the  part  ten  times  in  the  last  eight  days.  How  I 
shall  play  it  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  I  feel  it. 
In  vain  the  newspapers  object ;  they  will  not  disgust  me 
with  the  part.  The  newspapers,  instead  of  helping  me 
and  encouraging  me,  exhaust  their  ingenuity  in  injuring 
me.  But  I  will  play  that  part  if  only  four  persons  come 
to  see  me !  Yes  (turning  to  De  Musset),  I  have  read 
certain  articles  full  of  candor  and  of  conscience,  and  I 
know  nothing  better  or  more  useful ;  but  there  are  people 
who  use  their  weapons  only  to  lie,  to  destroy  !  They  are 
worse  than  thieves  or  assassins.  They  kill  the  soul  with 
pin  pricks  !     0,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  could  poison  them. 

Mother — My  dear,  you  do  nothing  but  talk  ;  you  tire 
yourself  out.  This  morning  you  were  up  at  six  o'clock  ; 
I  do  not  know  what  your  legs  are  made  of.  After  talking 
all  day  you  played  this  evening.  You  will  make  yourself 
sick. 

Rachel  (eagerly} — No  ;  let  me  alone  !  I  tell  you,  no  ! 
It  is  that  which  keeps  me  alive.  Would  you  like  me 
(turning  to  De  Musset)  to  go  and  get  the  book  ?  We 
will  read  the  piece  together. 

The  Poet — Would  I  like  it !  You  could  propose  noth- 
ing more  agreeable  to  me. 

Sarah — But,  my  dear,  it  is  half-past  eleven. 

Rachel — Very  well ;  who  hinders  you  from  going  to 
bed  ? 


370  AN   EVENING   WITH    RACHEL. 

Sarah  went  to  bed.  Rachel  rose  and  left  the  room, 
returning  in  a  moment  carrying  the  volume  of  Racine  in 
her  hands,  with  something  in  her  air  and  step  which 
seemed  to  the  poet  to  savor  of  the  solemn  and  religious. 
It  was  the  manner  of  a  celebrant  approaching  the  altar 
bearing  the  sacred  vessels.  She  took  a  seat  next  De  Mus- 
set,  and  snuffed  the  candles.    Her  mother  fell  into  a  doze. 

Rachel  (opening  the  book  in  a  manner  expressive  of  pro- 
found respect,  and  bending  over  if) — How  I  love  this  man  ! 
When  I  put  my  nose  into  this  book,  I  could  remain  two 
days  without  eating  or  drinking. 

The  poet  and  the  actress  then  began  to  read  that 
"  Phedre  "  which  French  critics,  from  Voltaire  to  Sainte 
Beuve,  unite  in  thinking  the  supreme  product  of  the 
French  drama.  The  book  lay  open  between  them.  The 
rest  of  the  company,  one  after  the  other,  took  their  leave, 
Rachel  nodding  a  slight  farewell  as  each  withdrew,  and 
continuing  to  read.  At  first  she  repeated  the  lines  in  a 
monotonous  tone,  as  though  she  was  saying  a  litany. 
Gradually  she  kindled.  They  exchanged  remarks  and 
ideas  upon  each  passage.  She  came  at  last  to  the  dec- 
laration. She  extended  one  arm  straight  upon  the  table, 
and  with  her  forehead  leaning  upon  her  left  hand  she 
abandoned  herself  entirely  to  the  reading.  Nevertheless, 
she  still  spoke  only  in  half  voice.  Suddenly  her  eyes 
sparkled.  The  genius  of  Racine  lighted  up  her  counte- 
nance. She  grew  pale  and  red  by  turns.  Never  had  her 
companion  seen  anything  so  beautiful,  so  moving  ;  at  the 
theater  she  had  never  produced  such  an  effect  upon  him. 
All  the  circumstances  concurred  to  deepen  the  impres- 
sion ;  her  fatigue,  a  slight  hoarseness,  the  evident  stimu- 
lus of  the  punch,  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  almost 
feverish  animation  of  that  little  face  with  the  pretty 
night  cap  over  it,  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  a  certain 
infantile  smile  which  occasionally  flitted  across  her  counte- 


AN    EVENING   WITH    RACHEL.  371 

nance — even  the  disordered  table,  the  unsnuffed  candle, 
the  dozing  mother — all  made  up  a  picture  worthy  of 
Rembrandt,  a  chapter  that  might  figure  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  and  a  reminiscence  of  artist  life  never  to  be 
effaced. 

Half-past  twelve  arrived.  The  father  of  the  family 
came  in  from  the  opera.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated  he 
ordered  his  daughter,  in  tones  which  seemed  brutal  to 
the  poet,  to  stop  her  reading.  Rachel  closed  the  book, 
and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  This  is  revolting ;  I  will  buy  a 
book-holder  and  read  in  bed."  Do  Musset  looked  at  her 
and  saw  large  tears  rolling  from  her  eyes.  It  was  to  him, 
indeed,  most  revolting  to  hear  this  wonderful  creature 
addressed  in  such  a  manner;  and  he  took  his  leave  full  of 
admiration,  respect,  and  emotion. 

Brutal  as  may  have  been  the  father's  manner,  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  he  was  substantially  right ;  and  if 
this  gifted  girl  had  taken  his  advice,  only  so  far  as  to  go 
to  bed  when  her  work  was  done,  she  would  not  have  died 
at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  when,  in  the  course  of  nature, 
she  would  not  have  reached  the  full  development  of  her 
powers.  Alfred  De  Musset  began  soon  after  to  write  a 
play  for  her  which  he  did  not  live  to  complete  ;  for  he, 
too,  was  one  of  the  brilliant  people  who  burn  the  candle 
of  life  at  both  ends,  and  live  in  disregard  of  those  phys- 
ical conditions  of  welfare  which  no  man  or  woman  can 
violate  with  impunity. 

In  Paris,  that  night,  there  were  a  thousand  suppers 
more  sumptuous  and  splendid.  The  chance  presence  of 
a  sympathetic  reporter,  by  preserving  a  record  of  this 
one,  reveals  to  us  the  sublime  child  herself  and  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  she  lived.  Strange  that  our  cherished 
apparatus  of  education  should  give  us  mediocrity,  Avhile 
genius  is  generated  under  the  rudest  conditions,  and 
develops  itself,  not  merely  without  help,  but  in  spite  of 
the  harshest  hindrance  ! 


XXX. 

JOSEPHINE  AND  BONAPAETE. 

WE  get  much  light  upon  Josephine,  and  upon  Napo- 
leon's general  brutality  towards  women  from 
the  Memoirs  of  Madame  de  Re*musat,  which  the  people 
of  Paris  have  been  reading  lately  with  so  much  inter- 
est. This  lady  was  a  member  of  the  household  of  the 
Empress  Josephine  for  several  years,  and  she  gives 
us  an  inside  view  of  Napoleon's  court  which  is  highly 
edifying.  A  particularly  interesting  chapter  is  that  in 
which  the  coronation  of  Bonaparte  and  Josephine  is 
related ;  a  scene  which  Thiers  has  described  with  extra- 
ordinary splendor  and  graphic  power.  Thiers  gives  us 
the  outside  of  the  wondrous  show  ;  Madame  de  Remusat 
the  inside. 

It  was  November,  1804.  The  new  emperor  and  empress 
were  at  the  palace  of  Saint-Cloud,  with  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  their  "  households,"  a  great  company  of 
noted  persons,  all  looking  forward  with  intensest  interest 
to  the  coming  spectacle.  The  brothers  and  sisters  of 
Napoleon  were  there  with  their  families  and  retinue.  A 
great  preliminary  question  agitated  the  circle,  respecting 
the  position  of  Josephine  in  the  ceremony  of  the  corona- 
tion. Should  she  be  a  spectator  or  a  participant  ?  All 
in  a  word  :  Was  she  about  to  be  crowned  or  divorced  1 
Bonaparte  himself  passionately  desired  an  heir  to  his  new 
throne,  which  Josephine  could  never  give  him.  In  his 
address  to  the  Senate,  formally  accepting  the  throne,  he 
used  such  language  as  this : 
(372)' 


JOSEPHINE,   WIFE   OP   NAPOLEON   I.  373 

"  My  descendants  will  long  preserve  this  throne.  In 
the  field,  they  will  be  the  first  soldiers  of  the  army, 
sacrificing  their  lives  for  the  defence  of  their  country. 
As  magistrates,  they  will  never  lose  sight  of  the  truth 
that  contempt  for  the  laws  and  of  the  social  order  are 
only  the  results  of  the  weakness  and  indecision  of  princes." 

To  the  people  of  France  the  full  significance  of  these 
words  was  not  apparent;  but  Josephine  and  all  the  family 
of  Bonaparte  knew  very  well  what  they  meant.  His 
brothers  and  sisters,  who  had  nothing  of  Napoleon  but  his 
littleness,  urged  him  with  excessive  importunity  to  seize 
this  occasion  to  set  Josephine  aside.  If  they  had  been 
less  persistent,  they  might  have  succeeded,  for  the 
emperor  was  strongly  tempted  to  begin  his  reign  with 
this  act  of  baseness.  Josephine  herself  was  turn  with 
anxiety,  for  she  lo.ved  the  pomps  and  splendors  of  a 
court,  and  was  really  attached  to  her  husband.  In  the 
crisis  of  these  family  intrigues  an  incident  occurred  which 
came  near  deciding  the  question  against  Josephine. 

Imagine  a  large  drawing-room  at  Saint-Cloud,  with 
windows  looking  out  upon  the  beautiful  gardens  of  that 
royal  chateau,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  opposite 
wing  in  which  were  the  emperor's  own  rooms.  Imagine 
this  drawing-room  filled  with  the  ladies  belonging  to  the 
household  of  the  empress,  occupied  in  various  idle  employ- 
ments. One  of  the  ladies  suddenly  leaves  the  apartment, 
and  Josephine,  who  had  been  for  some  weeks  very  jealous 
of  her,  looks  out  of  the  window,  and  sees  her  enter  the 
emperor's  cabinet.  She  took  Madame  de  Reniusat  aside, 
and  said  to  her  in  fierce  whispers : 

"  I  am  going  this  very  hour  to  know  the  truth  of  the 
matter.  Remain  in  this  saloon  with  all  my  circle,  and  if 
any  one  asks  what  has  become  of  me,  you  will  say  that 
the  emperor  has  sent  for  me." 

The  lady  strove  to  retain  her,  but  she  was  beside  her- 


374  JOSEPHINE,   WIFE   OF   NAPOLEON   I. 

self  with  passion,  and  would  not  listen  to  her.  Josephine 
left  the  room,  and  was  gone  for  half  an  hour.  Then 
returning,  she  ordered  Madame  de  R6musat  to  follow  her 
into  her  chamber. 

"  All  is  lost !  "  cried  the  empress,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone  ;  "  and  what  I  suspected  is  only  too  true.  I  sought 
the  emperor  in  his  cabinet.  He  was  not  there !  Then  I 
went  by  the  secret  staircase  to  the  little  suite  of  rooms 
above.  I  found  the  door  shut,  but  through  the  keyhole  I 
heard  their  voices.  I  knocked  very  loud,  saying  who  I 
was.  When  the  door  was  opened  I  burst  into  reproaches, 
and  she  began  to  cry.  Bonaparte  flew  into  a  passion  so 
violent  that  I  scarcely  had  time  to  escape  from  his  resent- 
ment. In  truth,  I  am  still  trembling;  for  I  do  not  know 
to  what  excess  he  would  have  carried  his  fury.  No  doubt 
he  will  come  here,  and  I  expect  a  terrible  scene." 

"  Do  not  commit  a  second  fault,"  said  Madame  de 
Rermisat ;  "  for  the  emperor  would  never  forgive  your 
making  a  confidante  of  any  one  whatever  in  this  matter. 
Let  me  leave  you,  madamc.  He  must  find  you  alone, 
and  do  try  to  soften  him,  and  repair  so  great  an 
imprudence." 

There  was  indeed  a  terrible  scene  between  the  most 
arbitrary  of  men  and  his  jealous  wife.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  Josephine  called  Madame  de  R6musat  to  her  and 
told  her  that  Bonaparte  in  his  anger  had  broken  some  of 
the  furniture,  and  given  her  notice  to  prepare  to  leave 
Saint-Cloud,  as  he  was  tired  of  being  watched  by  a  jeal- 
ous woman.  He  was  resolved,  he  said,  to  shake  off  such 
a  yoke,  and  then  do  what  his  policy  required — marry  a 
woman  who  could  give  him  children.  Upon  leaving  her, 
he  sent  to  Paris  for  her  son  Eugene  to  come  and  take 
charge  of  his  mother's  departure  from  the  palace. 

"  I  am  lost  beyond  resource,"  said  Josephine. 

Eugene    arrived.      He    behaved    nobly,   refusing    all 


JOSEPHINE,   WIFE   OF   NAPOLEON   I.  375 

recompense  and  benefits  of  every  kind,  and  declaring  that 
he  would  devote  himself  to  his  mother,  even  if  he  had  to 
go  back  with  her  to  Martinique,  her  native  island.  Bona- 
parte appeared  struck  with  this  generous  devotion,  and 
listened  to  the  young  man  in  "  ferocious  silence."  A  few 
clays  passed.  Josephine  acted  upon  the  advice  of  her 
lady,  and  played  the  part  of  the  contrite  and  submissive 
wife.  Napoleon,  who  had  really  loved  her  after  his  fash- 
ion, was  soon  mollified,  and  he  then  endeavored  to  per- 
suade her  to  spare  him  the  pain  of  sending  her  away  by 
going  away  herself. 

"  I  have  not  the  courage,"  said  he  to  her,  "  to  take  the 
last  resolution,  and  if  you  exhibit  too  much  sorrow,  and 
if  you  only  obey  me,  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  be  firm 
enough  to  compel  you  to  leave  me ;  but,  I  confess,  I 
greatly  desire  that  you  should  resign  yourself  to  the 
interest  of  my  policy,  and  that  you  yourself  should 
relieve  me  of  the  embarrassment  of  this  painful  separa- 
tion." 

To  all  sucn  words  as  these,  Josephine  only  replied  by 
the  penetrating  eloquence  of  tears.  These  might  not 
have  succeeded  if  the  other  Bonapartes  had  not  urged 
the  divorce  with  the  vehemence  of  personal  jealously  and 
dislike.  They  thought  they  had  succeeded,  and  boasted 
of  their  triumph  a  little  too  openly  and  confidently. 
Napoleon  perceived  this,  and  suddenly  determined  to 
disappoint  them.  He  told  her  one  evening  that  the  Pope 
was  about  to  arrive,  who  would  crown  them  both  in  the 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 

The  preparations  now  went  forward  with  great  rapidity. 
There  were  private  rehearsals  of  the  coronation,  attended 
by  the  artist  David,  who  directed  the  positions  of  each 
performer,  and  arranged  all  the  details  of  the  scene.  It 
was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  Napoleon  announced 
his  intention  of  putting  the  crown  upon  his  own  head ; 
for,  said  lie : 


375  JOSEPHINE,   WIFE   OF   NAPOLEON   I 


"  I  found  the  crown  of  France  on  the  ground,  and  I 
picked  it  up." 

On  the  great  day,  the  sisters  of  Napoleon  were  forced 
to  carry  the  train  of  the  empress ;  a  duty  which  they  per- 
formed with  so  much  repugnance,  and  so  badly,  that  she 
could  scarcely  walk,  until  the  emperor  growled  a  sharp 
reproof  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

The  most  startling  anecdote  which  these  Memoirs 
have  so  far  given,  is  one  showing  that  Napoleon  was  will- 
ing at  one  time  to  palm  off  on  the  French  people  a  false 
heir  to  the  throne.  Attempts  of  this  kind  have  been  the 
subject  of  more  than  one  popular  novel;  but  here  it 
figures  as  a  fact.  Josephine,  to  save  her  crown,  gave 
her  consent  to  the  fraud,  and  Bonaparte  sent  for  his  chief 
physician,  Corvisart,  to  arrange  with  him  the  details. 
Dr.  Corvisart  proved  to  be  a  man  of  courage  and  honor. 
He  refused  to  lend  himself  to  the  deception,  and  the  nota- 
ble project  was  of  necessity  given  up.  It  was  not  until 
after  the  marriage  of  Bonaparte  with  Marie  Louise  and 
the  birth  of  her  son,  that  Dr.  Corvisart  confided  this 
secret  to  Madame  de  Remusat. 

Such  is  personal  government.  Such  are  courts.  Such 
are  the  consequences  of  resting  the  honor  and  safety  of  a 
nation  upon  one  man. 


XXXI. 

LADY   MORGAN. 

IN  naming  one  of  her  early  novels  "  The  Wild  Irish 
Girl,"  Lady  Morgan  gave  the  public  an  inkling  of  her 
own  character.  The  world  Wild,  however,  has  acquired 
opprobrious  meanings,  none  of  which  apply  to  her  inno- 
cent and  high-bred  vivacity.  She  was  a  true  specimen  of 
the  Irish  race,  gay,  witty,  liberal,  but  ever  loyal  to  friends 
and  duty.  No  contrast  could  be  greater  than  her  exuber- 
ant gayety  with  the  constrained  existence  and  despotic 
formalism  to  which  we  are  accustomed ;  and  hence  the 
interest  she  excites  in  us.  Here  is  her  strange,  eventful 
history,  a  history  possible  only  to  a  child  of  Erin. 

On  Christmas  eve,  1783,  a  party  was  gathered  in  Dub- 
lin at  the  house  of  a  popular  Irish  actor,  by  name  Robert 
Owenson.  His  wife  was  not  present,  having  excused  her- 
self on  the  plea  of  indisposition  ;  but  the  feast  progressed 
merrily,  with  singing,  toasts,  and  story-telling,  and  it  was 
already  Christmas  morning  when  a  breathless  messenger 
appeared  on  the  threshold  to  inform  the  host  of  the 
arrival  of  an  unexpected  Christmas  present  from  his 
wife.  He  hastily  quitted  the  room  on  receiving  the 
announcement,  and  an  hour  later  returned  beaming  to 
his  guests  (who  had  not  thought  of  dispersing  in  the 
meantime)  bringing  word  that  all  was  going  well,  amf  he 
was  the  proud  father  of  "a  dear  little  Irish  girl,"  the 
blessing  he  had  long  wished  for.  This  intelligence  was 
greeted  with  a  half-suppressed  cheer  by  the  company,  who 
23  (377)  * 


378  LADY   MORGAN. 

arranged  before  they  left  to  meet  again  a  month  later  and 
celebrate  the  christening,  one  of  them,  Edward  Lysaght, 
a  noted  lawyer  and  wit  of  that  day,  agreeing  to  stand 
sponsor. 

The  party  then  broke  up,  and  made  the  best  haste  they 
could  to  their  several  homes,  for  the  night  was  cold  and  the 
snow  was  falling.  Lysaght,  who  had  the  farthest  to  go, 
trudged  steadily  onward,  his  mind  yet  filled  with  thoughts 
of  the  feast  just  over  and  of  the  little  baby  who  was  to  be 
his  goddaughter,  while  the  notes  of  a  Christmas  carol, 
sung  by  a  child  whose  form  he  could  dimly  perceive  some 
distance  in  advance,  floated  back  to  his  ears  and  fell  in 
pleasantly  with  his  thoughts.  Overtaking  the  child,  he 
was  enabled  to  catcli  the  last  words  of  her  song.  They 
were  the  well-known  refrain  : 

"  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 
And  when  it  comes  it  brings  good  cheer." 

As  the  song  died  away  the  singer  sank  down  suddenly 
upon  the  steps  of  a  brilliantly  lighted  house  resounding 
with  music  and  laughter.  He  went  up  to  her  and  found 
that  she  was  dead,  still  grasping  her  ballad  in  her  hand. 

This  pathetic  story  of  her  birthnight  was  almost  the 
first  story  told  to  Robert  Owenson's  little  daughter,  and  a 
short  poem  upon  the  subject  by  Lysaght  was  the  first 
thing  she  ever  learned  by  heart. 

Her  christening  took  place  according  to  agreement,  a 
month  after  her  birth,  and  the  occasion  was  one  of  rejoic- 
ings truly  Irish  in  their  character.  A  branch  of  shillalah 
graced  the  table,  and  Mr.  Owenson,  who  was  a  fine  musi- 
cian, sang,  first  in  Irish  and  then  in  English,  the  famous 
song  of  "  O'Rourke's  Noble  Feast,"  the  whole  company 
joining  enthusiastically  in  the  chorus  : 

"  Oh  you  are  "welcome  heartily, 
Welcome,  gramachree, 
Welcome  heartily, 
Welcome  joy ! " 


LADY   MORGAN.  379 

Later,  the  extremely  young  lady  was  herself  brought 
in,  and  her  health  drunk  standing  with  three  times 
three,  and  the  significant  accompanying  words,  "Foghan 
Fah,"  or  "  wait  awhile."  It  was  an  appropriate  toast, 
for  a  '  while  '  not  very  long  raised  the  little  Sydney  Owen- 
son,  who  was  thus  cordially  greeted  upon  her  first  appear- 
ance in  society,  to  a  position  where  few  of  her  early 
friends  expected  to  find  her. 

Robert  Owenson  was  a  gifted  and  hospitable  Irishman ; 
the  only  son  of  Walter  MacOwen  or  Owenson,  a  Con- 
naught  farmer,  and  Sydney  Crofton,  the  orphan  grand- 
daughter of  Sir  Malby  Crofton  of  Longford  House.  His 
parents- had  made  an  indiscreet  and  romantic  marriage. 
They  met  first  at  a  hurling-match,  where  Miss  Crofton 
was  the  Queen  of  Beauty  who  awarded  the  prize,  and 
young  Owenson  the  handsome  athlete  who  won  it.  A 
few  weeks  after,  they  ran  away  together  and  were  mar- 
ried, but  the  union  did  not  prove  a  happy  one,  and  the 
bride,  who  was  a  woman  of  talent,  consoled  herself  as 
best  she  could  with  music  and  poetry.  So  well  were  her 
efforts  appreciated  by  the  neighboring  peasants  that  they 
nicknamed  her  Clasagh-na-Valla,  or  Harp  of  the  Valley. 
Her  eloquence,  however,  was  of  more  practical  benefit  to 
her  son,  since  a  certain  Mr.  Blake  was  so  impressed  by 
her  recital  of  the  wrongs  inflicted  by  one  of  his  ancestors 
upon  a  long  dead  MacOwen,  that  he  carried  off  young 
Robert  to  London  with  him  by  way  of  amends.  After  a 
time  a  love  affair  with  a  pretty  singer  brought  the  young 
man  into  disgrace  with  his  patron,  and  he  took  to  the 
stage  to  support  himself.  A  few  years  later,  following 
the  family  custom,  he  ran  away  with  and.  married  Miss 
Jane  Hill,  the  sister  of  a  college  friend. 

It  was  from  her  father  that  Sydney  Owenson,  the  name- 
sake of  poor  Clasagh-na-Yalla,  derived  those  brilliant  and 
winning  qualities  that  made  her  famous;  but  it  was  her 


380  LADY   MORGAN. 

English  mother  from  whom  she  inherited  her  practical 
sense  and  business  capacity,  and  perhaps  also  what  she 
herself  describes  as  her  "  sacred  horror  of  debt." 

During  her  early  years  the  family  fortunes  were 
extremely  unsettled,  her  father  striving  vainly  to  earn  a 
respectable  income  by  the  combined  pursuits  of  wine  mer- 
chant and  manager  of  a  theatre.  She  and  her  younger 
sister  Olivia  received  an  irregular  education,  partly  from 
their  mother,  partly  at  school.  But  they  did  not  progress 
satisfactorily,  and  Sydney  in  particular  was  the  despair 
of  her  mother,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon  having  her 
eldest  daughter  equal  the  achievements  of  a  precocious 
little  child  of  Rowland  Hill's,  who  had  read  the  Bible 
through  twice  before  she  was  five,  and  knitted  all  the 
stockings  worn  by  the  coachman.  Happily  for  the  public 
good  Mrs.  Owenson's  ambition  was  disappointed ;  her  elfish 
little  girl  found  it  quite  impossible  to  master  the  genealogy 
of  the  patriarchs,  and  could  not  be  made  to  sit  still  and 
sew,  but  nothing  that  was  going  on  about  her  escaped  her 
inquisitive,  bright  eyes.  She  was  deeply  interested  in  all 
the  trades  carried  on  in  the  neighborhood,  and  did  her 
best  to  become  acquainted  with  their  mysteries. 

She  even  went  so  far  as  to  set  up  a  shop  with  her 
father's  theatrical  wigs,  choosing  for  the  purpose  the 
only  window  fronting  upon  the  street,  and  inscribing  upon 
it,  in  her  best  and  biggest  hand-writing,  Sydney  Owen- 
son,  System,  Tete  and  Peruke  Maker — which  was  the 
proper  form  of  advertising  at  that  period.  What  is 
more,  she  could  have  carried  on  the  trade  had  she  been 
permitted,  having  acquired  the  art  through  observing 
her  father's  hair-dresser. 

She  was  also  tolerably  well  instructed  in  chimney- 
sweeping,  having  closely  observed  the  proceedings  of  a 
number  of  young  sweeps  who  lived  in  a  cellar  across  the 
way.     On  one  occasion,  when  the  school  chimney  caught 


LADY   MORGAN.  381 

fire,  she  dashed  out  into  the  street  and  summoned  in  the 
the  whole  tribe  of  them  to  the  rescue.  They  put  out  the 
lire,  but  filled  the  room  with  soot,  greatly  to  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  school-mistress,  who  turned  them  all  out  into 
the  street  for  their  pains,  and  Sydney  with  them. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  she  made  her  first  liter- 
ary venture.  She  was  the  happy  owner  of  a  large  number 
of  pets,  chiefly  among  which  was  a  great  yellow  cat, 
named  Ginger.  Ginger  and  Mrs.  Owcnson  were  not  on 
the  best  of  terms,  and  the  discerning  animal  was  glad  to 
keep  herself  out  of  that  lady's  way,  in  a  snug  nook 
arranged  for  her  underneath  the  sideboard  by  her  little 
mistress.  One  evening,  as  Sydney  was  kneeling  at  her 
mother's  knee,  concluding  her  nightly  prayer,  with  a 
blessing  invoked  upon  her  various  friends,  a  soft  purr  was 
heard  issuing  from  this  retreat.  Moved  by  so  touching 
an  appeal,  she  added  to  her  usual  petition  the  words, 
"  God  bless  Ginger  the  cat ! "  Mrs.  Owenson,  much 
shocked,  caught  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  her,  say- 
ing: 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  stupid  child  ? " 
"  May  I  not  say,  '  bless  Ginger  ? ' "  asked  Sydney. 
"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Owenson. 
"  Why  mama  ?  " 

"  Because  Ginger  is  not  a  Christian  ! " 
"  Why  is  not  Ginger  a  Christian?" 
"  Why  ?     Because  Ginger  is  only  an  animal." 
"Am  I  a  Christian,  mama,  or  an  animal?" 
At  this  point  Molly,  the  devoted   household  servant, 
was  abruptly  requested  to  take  those  troublesome  children 
to  bed,  and  teach  them  not  to  ask  foolish  questions.     But 
even  bed  did  not  end  the    matter.      Sydney's  warmest 
feelings  were  aroused  in  sympathy    with  her  poor   un- 
Christian  favorite,  and  while  lying  awake  she  composed 
a  poem  in  its  honor,  which  was  next  morning  recited  in 


382  LADY   MORGAN. 

the  kitchen  amid  great  applause.  James  the  butler  took 
it  down  from  the  lips  of  the  young  poet ;  Molly  corrected 
the  proof;  and  at  breakfast  it  was  read  to  the  family, 
winning  praise  from  Mr.  Owen  son,  and,  which  was 
more  important,  a  pardon  for  both  Sydney  and  Ginger. 
Here  it  is : 

' '  My  dear  pussy  cat, 
Were  I  a  mouse  or  rat 

Sure  I  never  would  run  off  from  you ; 
You're  so  funny  and  gay 
With  your  tail  when  you  play, 

And  no  song  is  so  sweet  as  your  mew. 

"  But  pray  keep  in  your  press, 
And  don't  make  a  mess 

When  you  share  with  your  kittens  our  posset; 
For  mama  can't  abide  you, 
And  I  cannot  hide  you, 

Except  you  keep  close  in  your  closet." 

In  spite  of  Mrs.  Owenson's  antipathy  to  Ginger,  and  to 
most  other  things  which  her  daughter  particularly  liked, 
Sydney  was  very  fond  of  her  mother,  and  her  death  a  few 
years  later  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  It  was  thought 
best  for  the  children  to  be  out  of  the  way  for  a  few  days 
after  the  event,  and  they  were  sent  to  stay  wTith  a  friend 
who  lived  some  miles  distant.  Sydney  was  not  content 
to  be  separated  from  her  father  in  his  time  of  trouble. 
Twice  she  was  captured  and  detained  when  about  to 
return ;  but  the  third  time  she  succeeded  in  squeezing 
herself  through  a  hole  cut  in  the  barn-door  for  the  dog,  and 
ran  the  whole  way  home,  never  pausing  till  she  found 
her  father  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

During  the  next  few  years  the  condition  of  Mr.  Owen- 
son's  business  became  worse  and  worse,  till  it  at  last 
resulted  in  bankruptcy,  and  he  went  away  to  Limerick  to 
await  a  final  meeting  of  his  creditors.     It  was  the  girls' 


LADY   MORGAN.  .       883 

vacation  at  tho  time,  and  they  were  left  at  home  under 
the  guardianship  of  the  faithful  Molly  until  their  school 
should  reopen,  the  true  cause  of  their  father's  journey 
being  unknown  to  them.  But  Sydney  was  not  easily  kept 
hi  the  dark,  and  it  was  not  long  before  her  father  received 
a  letter  from  her,  containing  a  strange  mingling  of  fore- 
sight and  simplicity. 

"  Mr.  OT has  been  here,"  she   wrote.    "  lie    has 

told  mc  all,  and  I  have  seen  your  name  on  the  list  of 
Statutes  of  Bankruptcy.  He  said  it  was  the  best  and 
honestest,  indeed,  the  only  thing  that  could  be  done,  and 
that  you  will  come  out  of  this  terrible  dilemma  as  well 
considered  and  respected  as  you  have  hitherto  lived  ;  but 
that  time,  and  great  economy,  and  your  resuming  your 
theatrical  position  with  Mr.  Daly  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
were  indispensable.  Now,  for  all  this,  dear  sir,  we  must 
relieve  you  from  the  terrible  expense  you  have  been  at 
for  our  education.  Of  this,  I  am  resolved  to  relieve  you, 
and  to  earn  money  for  you  instead  of  spending  the  little 
you  will  have  for  some  time  to  come." 

An  important  statement  in  italics,  follows:  "Now, 
dear  papa,  I  have  two  novels  nearly  finished  I " 

Her  plan  was  to  go  out  as  a  governess  while  she 
finished  these  works,  and  she  had  already  heard  of  two 
situations,  either  of  which  she  thought  she  could  fill.  A 
short  postscript  to  the  letter  shows  that  her  talent  for 
being  agreeable  had  already  begun  to  be  recognized. 

"  P.  S.  Captain  Earle  and  Captain  White  Benson,  who 
you  may  remember  at  Kilkenny  were  always  running 
after  us,  called  yesterday  ;  but  Molly  would  not  let  them 
in,  which  I  thought  was  rather  impertinent  of  her. 
However,  as  things  are  at  present,  I  believe  it  was  all  for 
the  best." 

Her  next  letter  shows  the  manner  in  which  she  faced 
the  embarrassments  of  her  position.     She  begins  by  com- 


384  LADY   MORGAN. 

plaining  of  a  certain  "  odious  Mrs.  Anderson,"  who 
wanted  her  bill  paid,  and  was  "  insolent "  about  it,  and 
also  of  the  landlady,  who  not  only  detained  their  piano, 
a  hired  one,  when  they  wished  to  return  it  to  the  owners, 
but  gave  them  warning  to  leave  next  week.  Molly  the 
dauntless  defended  the  rights  of  her  young  charges,  and 
the  contest  of  words  threatened  at  one  time,  greatly  to 
their  terror,  to  become  a  passage  of  arms.  When  this 
excitement  was  over  ihe  three  sat  down  and  indulged  in 
a  hearty  cry,  in  the  midst  of  which  arrived  M.  Fontaine, 
Mr.  Owcnson's  old  ballet-master,  and  a  devoted  friend. 
He  was  in  a  carriage  on  his  way  to  Dublin  Castle,  where 
he  had  recently  been  appointed  Master  of  Ceremonies. 

"Poor  darling  old  gentleman,"  wrote  Sydney  to  her 
"dearest  Dad,"  "I  thought  he  was  going  to  cry  with  us 
(for  we  told  him  everything),  instead  of  which,  however, 
he  threw  up  the  window  and  cried  out,  '  Come  up  then, 
Martin  my  son,  with  your  little  violin  '  ;  and  up  comes 
Martin,  more  ugly  and  absurd  than  ever,  with  his  little 
'  kit '  ;  and  what  does  dear  old  Fontaine  do  but  put  us  in 
a  circle,  that  we  might  dance  a  chassez-d-la-ronde,  saying, 
'  enliven  yourselves,  my  children,  that  is  the  only  thing  ' ; 
and  only  think,  there  we  were ;  the  next  minute  we  were 
all  of  us — Molly,  Martin,  and  Monsieur  included — danc- 
ing away  to  the  tune  '  What  a  Beau  your  Granny  is  ' 
(the  only  one  that  Martin  can  play),  and  we  were  all 
laughing  ready  to  die  until  Livy  gave  Molly,  who  was  in 
the  way,  a  kick  behind  ;  she  fell  upon  Martin,  who  fell 
upon  his  father,  who  fell  upon  me — and  there  we  were, 
all  sprawling  like  a  pack  of  cards  and  laughing ;  and 
then,  dear  papa,  Fontaine  sent  off  Martin  in  the  carriage 
to  the  confectioner's  in  Grafton  street  for  some  ices  and 
biscuits  ;  so  that  we  had  quite  a  feast  and  no  time  to 
think  or  be  sorrowful." 

Better  even  than  this,  the  merry  and  wise  old  French- 


LADY   MORGAN.  385 

man  carried  the  girls  off  with  him  to  the  Castle,  where 
they  spent  a  triumphant  evening,  listening  to  songs  and 
readings,  observing  the  noted  people  present,  and  finally 
(owing  to  a  judicious  word  from  M.  Fontaine  to  their 
hostess,  Countess  O'Haggerty)  themselves  singing  a  duet 
which  took  the  company  by  storm. 

Twice  disappointed  in  her  hope  of  obtaining  a  situa- 
tion— both  the  places  mentioned  in  her  letter  to  her  father 
being  denied  her  on  account  of  her  youth — Sydney 
Owenson  was  at  last  engaged  as  governess  and  com- 
panion for  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Featherstone,  two  pleas- 
ant girls  of  about  her  own  age.  The  arrangement  was 
made  by  their  mother,  while  visiting  in  Dublin,  and  it 
was  settled  that  Miss  Owenson  should  join  the  family  a 
few  days  later  at  their  country  seat,  Bracklin  Castle. 

She  was  to  leave  Dublin  by  the  night  coach,  and  M. 
Fontaine,  ever  gay  and  ever  friendly,  gave  a  farewell  party 
in  her  honor  on  the  very  evening  of  her  departure. 
There  Avas  no  danger  of  her  missing  the  coach,  he  assured 
her,  since  it  passed  close  by  at  the  head  of  the  street,  and 
the  driver  had  promised  to  blow  his  horn.  She  could 
bring  her  traveling  dress  with  her  in  her  bag,  and  change 
her  costume  before  starting. 

The  party  took  place,  and  was  highly  successful. 
Indeed,  so  great  was  the  general  hilarity  that  the  passage 
of  time  was  forgotten,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  dance, 
just  as  Miss  Owenson  was  flying  merrily  through  "  Money 
in  Both  Pockets,"  with  her  favorite  partner,  the  horn 
sounded  its  warning  blast  from  the  corner.  There  was 
not  a  moment  to  lose  ;  a  change  of  dress  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  With  her  own  bonnet  hastily  clapped  on  her 
head,  and  Molly's  long  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders, 
she  dashed  out  of  the  door,  accompanied  by  her  partner 
bearing  her  valise,  and  escorted  on  her  way  by  the  whole 
excited  company  in  a  body.     She  made  the  best  speed 


386  LADY   MORGAN. 

she  could,  her  pink  silk  shoes  glancing  over  the  icy  pave- 
ment, and  her  muslin  ball  dress  fluttering  in  the  wind — 
and  reached  the  stage  just  as  the  grumbling  driver  was 
preparing  to  go  on  without  her. 

At  Kinigad,  where  she  arrived  late  at  night  very  tired 
and  sleepy,  she  retired  at  once  to  her  room  in  the  inn, 
too  confused  to  remember  her  baggage,  and  sure  that  she 
would  have  plenty  of  time  to  change  her  dress  in  the  morn- 
ing, before  the  carriage  from  Bracklin  came  to  her.  But 
what  was  her  dismay  when  she  rose  and  asked  for  her  bag, 
to  find  that  it  had  gone  on  with  the  stage  !  She  could  but 
resign  herself  to  the  inevitable,  and  towards  noon,  after 
a  long  drive,  she  presented  herself  in  the  drawing-room 
of  the  Castle,  "  pinched,  cold,  confused,  and  miserable," 
to  claim  her  new  position.  The  whole  family  was  assem- 
bled, and  a  general  titter  greeted  her  appearance,  Mr. 
Fcathcrstone  alone  regarding  her  fantastic  attire  with 
severe  disapproval.  For  a  moment  she  was  daunted, 
but  her  native  courage  soon  revived,  and  she  told  her 
story  with  such  vividness  and  spirit,  that  her  audience 
were  completely  overcome  with  mingled  mirth  and  com- 
passion for  her  sad  plight,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  con- 
cluded she  was  born  off  in  a  gale  of  laughter  by  the  two 
girls,  who  ransacked  their  wardrobes  to  find  her  some- 
thing to  wear. 

Nor  was  this  all.  At  dinner,  Mrs.  Featherstone  intro- 
duced her  to  two  tutors,  the  parish  priest,  and  the 
Protestant  curate  of  the  neighboring  village,  and  she 
kept  the  table  in  a  roar  during  the  whole  meal,  while  the 
servants  who  waited  nearly  choked  themselves  by  stuff- 
ing napkins  in  their  mouths,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  refrain 
from  laughing.  So  pleased  were  her  companions,  that  at 
dessert  the  priest,  Father  Murphy,  arose  with  a  glass  of 
port  wine  in  his  hand  to  drink  her  health.  After  a  polite 
bow  and  a  "  By  your  leave,  Madame,"  to  the  hostess,  he 
turned  to  the  new  governess,  exclaiming : 


LADY  MORGAN.  387 

"  This  is  a  hearty  welcome  to  je  to  Westmeath,  Miss 
Owenson  ;  and  this  is  to  your  health,  mind,  and  body  !  " 

Music  followed,  and  she  delighted  her  hearers  with 
"  Barbara  Allen,"  and  her  favorite  Irish  song,  "Ned  of 
the  Hills."  The  applause  with  which  these  selections 
were  received  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  but- 
ler, who  announced  that  a  piper  had  come  from  Castle- 
town, "  to  play  in  Miss  Owenson."  At  once  the  young 
ladies  proposed  a  dance  in  the  hall;  partners  were  chosen; 
the  music  struck  up  ;  the  servants  crowded  about  the 
open  doors  to  look  on  ;  and  Sydney  Owenson,  always  one 
of  the  lightest  and  most  graceful  of  dancers,  concluded 
her  first  day  as  a  governess  with  an  exultant  Irish  jig. 

Imagine  such  a  d6but  as  this  in  a  staid  English  or 
American  family  ! 

In  spite,  however,  of  her  startling  entrance  upon  the 
scene,  she  fulfilled  the  duties  of  her  position  conscien- 
tiously and  successfully,  and  devoted  most  of  her  leisure 
time  to  the  completion  of  one  of  the  two  half-finished 
novels.  The  work  was  finally  concluded  in  Dublin,  where 
the  Featherstones  spent  a  portion  of  each  year,  and  she 
determined  to  see  it  safely  in  the  hands  of  the  printer 
before  returning  to  Bracklin  Castle.  The  novel  had 
been  accomplished  alone  and  unaided,  and  she  resolved 
to  keep  her  secret  to  the  last,  though  she  did  not  even 
know  the  difference  between  a  publisher  and  a  book- 
seller. 

She  rose  early  one  morning,  glided  quietly  down  the 
stairs,  appropriated  to  her  own  use  the  cloak  and  market- 
bonnet  of  the  cook,  which  she  found  hanging  in  the  hall, 
and  slipped  out  of  the  house  unperceived,  carrying  her 
manuscript  neatly  tied  with  a  rose-colored  ribbon  under 
her  arm.  She  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to  go,  and 
wandered  about  the  business  streets  of  the  city,  frightened 
and  uncertain,  until  her  eye  fell  upon  a  sign  bearing  the 


883  LADY   MORGAN. 

words :  "  T.  Smith,  Printer  and  Bookseller."  As  she 
entered  the  doorway,  the  impish  shop-boy,  who  was  sweep- 
ing out  the  place,  sent  a  cloud  of  dust  into  her  face,  then 
dropping  his  broom  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  counter  and 
inquired  : 

"  What  do  you  plaize  to  want,  Miss  ?  " 

"  The  gentleman  of  the  house,"  she  managed  to  reply. 

"  Which  of  them,  young  or  ould  ? "  asked  the  boy ;  but 
before  she  could  answer  an  inner  door  opened,  and  a 
young  soldier  in  full  uniform,  his  musket  over  his 
shoulder,  entered  whistling  "  The  Irish  Volunteers,"  and 
stopped  short,  surprised  at  the  unexpected  apparition  of 
an  exceedingly  pretty  girl  in  an  exceedingly  ugly  bonnet. 

To  add  to  the  discomfort  of  the  situation,  the  shop-boy, 
with  a  wink,  put  in  his  word :  "  Here's  a  young  Miss  wants 
to  sec  yer,  Master  James  ; "  whereupon  Master  James, 
much  flattered  by  the  announcement,  advanced  smilingly 
and  chucked  Miss  Owenson  under  the  chin.  Before  she 
could  find  words  to  resent  this  familiarity,  an  elderly 
gentleman  in  a  great  passion  burst  into  the  room,  half- 
shaved,  and  still  holding  his  razor  and  shaving  cloth  in 
his  hand,  and  ordered  the  young  soldier  to  be  off  "  like  a 
sky-rocket "  to  join  his  company,  which  was  about  to 
march.  He  then  turned  to  poor  Miss  Owenson,  and 
addressing  her  as  "  Honey,"  bade  her  sit  down  and  he 
would  be  back  in  a  jiffy.  He  vanished,  but  soon  returned 
in  a  more  presentable  condition,  and  inquired  what  he 
could  do  for  her.  She  was  too  confused  to  reply  immedi- 
ately, but  after  he  had  repeated  the  question  she  answered 
faintly,  beginning  to  untie  the  rose-colored  ribbon  : 

"  I  want  to  sell  a  book,  please." 

"To  sell  a  book,  dear?  An  ould  one?  fori  sell  new 
ones  myself.  And  what  is  the  name  of  it,  and  what  is  it 
about  ? " 

The  title,  she  told  him,  was  St.  Clair,  and  it  was  a  novel 


LADY   MORGAN.  389 

of  sentiment,  after  the  manner  of  "Wertcr.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, Mr.  Smith  had  never  heard  of  "  Werter,"  and, 
moreover,  he  was  not  a  publisher  at  all.  He  told  her  so 
very  good-naturedly,  and  the  young  authoress,  "  hot, 
hungry,  flurried,  and  mortified,"  as  she  says  in  describing 
the  incident,  began  to  tie  up  her  manuscript  with  unsteady 
fingers.  She  tried  to  meet  the  blow  bravely,  but  tears 
came  into  her  eyes  in  spite  of  herself,  and  kind-hearted 
Mr.  Smith  melted  at  once. 

"  Don't  cry,  dear — don't  cry,"  he  said  consolingly. 
"  There's  money  bid  for  you  yet !  But  you're  very  young 
to  turn  author,  and  what's  your  name,  dear  ?  " 

"  Owenson,  sir,"  she  replied. 

The  name  acted  like  an  charm.  Mr.  Smith,  who  was 
an  old  friend  of  her  father,  asked  her  into  the  parlor  and 
wrote  a  letter  recommending  her  to  Mr.  Brown,  a  noted 
publisher  of  novels.  So,  courtesying,  blushing,  and  wiping 
her  eyes,  she  took  her  leave  and  set  forth  in  search  of 
Mr.  Brown. 

She  found  him  without  much  trouble — a  little  old  man 
in  a  bob-wig,  looking  over  papers  at  a  counter — and  pre- 
sented her  letter,  which  he  seemed  by  no  means  pleased 
to  receive.  He  was  still  frowning  at  it  when  his  wife 
entered  from  an  inner  room  where  breakfast  was  prepared, 
exclaiming  : 

"  Mr.  Brown,  your  tea  is  as  cold  as  ice  !  " 

Then,  taking  possession  of  the  note,  she  asked  what 
that  was. 

"  A  young  lady  who  wants  me  to  publish  her  novel, 
which  I  can't  do,"  was  the  discouraging  reply ;  "  my 
hands  are  full  already." 

Poor  Miss  Owenson  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes  ;  but  Mrs.  Brown,  pitying  her  distress,  told  her  to 
leave  the  book  and  she  would  see  that  it  was  carefully 
read.     St.  Cl.ir,  p*nk  ribbons  and  all,  remained  on  Mr. 


890  LADY   MORGAN. 

Brown's  counter,  and  a  little  later  its  venturous  young 
author  entered  her  house  unnoticed,  returned  her  bor- 
rowed garments  to  their  place,  and  joined  the  Feather- 
stones  at  breakfast.  Next  day  she  went  with  the  family 
to  Bracklin,  having  forgotten  to  leave  her  address  with 
the  publisher. 

She  heard  no  more  of  St.  Clair,  until,  during  her  next 
visit  to  Dublin,  she  accompanied  Mrs.  Featherstone  to 
call  on  an  invalid  friend,  and  found  a  printed  copy  of  her 
novel  lying  upon  the  window  seat.  She  promptly  com- 
municated with  Mr.  Brown,  who  presented  her  with  four 
copies — and  nothing  more.  The  book  had  some  success, 
and  was  even  translated  into  German  with  a  remarkable 
preface,  stating  that  the  writer  had  strangled  herself  with 
a  handkerchief  for  love.  She  afterwards  rewrote  it,  and 
the  new  version  was  published  in  England. 

She  left  the  Fcatherstones  in  1801,  and  in  1805  pub- 
lished her  second  novel,  "  The  Novice  of  St.  Dominic." 
Her  handwriting  was  extremely  illegible,  and  the  work 
(it  was  in  six  volumes)  was  copied  out  for  her  as  fast  as 
she  wrote  it  by  Francis  Crossley,a  youth  of  eighteen,  one 
of  the  most  devoted  of  her  many  admirers.  The  book 
was  issued  in  London,  and  she  was  promptly  paid  for  it. 
Of  the  sum  she  received — her  first  literary  earnings — the 
greater  part  was  sent  to  her  father ;  the  rest  she  spent  in 
purchasing  a  winter  cloak  and  an  Irish  harp. 

Her  next  effort,  "  The  Wild  Irish  Girl,"  was  in  a  new 
vein.  It  treated  of  the  Irish  scenes  with  which  she  was 
familiar,  and  described  them  with  the  humor,  the  fervor, 
and  the  patriotic  feeling  that  marked  her  own  truly  Irish 
character.  The  plot  was  based  upon  an  incident  in  her 
own  life,  and  the  fact  that  public  opinion  identified  her 
with  her  heroine,  is  shown  by  the  letters  she  received 
from  her  friends,  in  which  she  is  quite  as  often  addressed 
by  the  name  of  Grhrvina,  as  by  that  of  Sydney.     Some 


LADY   MORGAN.  391 

of  her  notes  from  Lord  Abercorn  begin  simply  "  Dear 
Little  Glo."  The  book  had  an  immediate  and  triumphant 
success,  and  from  that  time  until  her  death  she  was  one 
of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  the  literature  and 
society  of  her  day. 

In  1810,  after  much  hesitation,  she  once  more  resigned 
her  liberty  to  accept  the  pressing  invitation  of  Lord  and 
Lady  Abercorn  to  become  a  member  of  their  household. 
This  decision  affected  the  course  of  her  whole  life,  since 
it  was  at  their  house  that  she  met  her  future  husband,  Sir 
Charles,  then  plain  Doctor  Morgan.  Lady  Abercorn,  a 
benevolent  but  not  very  adroit  woman,  equally  attached 
to  her  sprightly  companion  and  her  handsome  young 
physician,  soon  determined  to  arrange  a  match  between 
them.  It  was  some  time  before  they  met ;  but  she  made 
such  good  use  of  her  opportunities  to  praise  each  to  the 
other,  that  Miss  Owenson  (at  her  request)  had  already 
written  a  humorous  mock  "  Diploma  of  the  University  of 
Saint  Glorvina"for  the  doctor,  before  ever  seeing  him ; 
while  that  gentleman  on  his  part  conceived  so  deep  a 
prejudice  against  a  woman  whom  he  pictured  as  an 
uncomfortable  paragon,  that  he  determined  to  avoid  her 
at  all  hazards.  But  fate  decreed  otherwise.  One  day,  as 
he  was  quietly  seated  talking  with  Lady  Abercorn,  the 
door  opened  and  a  servant  announced  "  Miss  Owenson." 
He  started  to  his  feet  at  once,  intent  upon  flight ;  there 
was  but  one  door  ;  and,  as  Miss  Owenson  entered  it,  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dismayed  Doctor  just  escaping  by 
the  window. 

This  was  a  little  too  much  to  be  borne.  Her  vanity  was 
touched,  and  when  they  were  at  last  brought  together  she 
exerted  herself  to  the  utmost  to  please  him,  with  such 
alarming  success  that  he  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her; 
and,  Lord  and  Lady  Abercorn  helping  him  to  urge  his 
suit,  he  was  engaged  to  her  at  the  end  of  a  month.     But 


392  LADY  MORGAN. 

the  Wild  Irish  Girl  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  not  fairly- 
won,  and  no  sooner  had  she  given  him  her  promise  than 
she  took  fright  at  the  terrible  suddenness  of  the  event. 
She  begged  leave  of  absence  to  visit  her  father,  who  was 
ill,  promising  to  come  back  in  a  fortnight,  although  she 
had  inwardly  resolved  to  remain  away  several  months  at 
least,  if  ever  she  returned  at  all.  Indeed,  in  after  life 
she  used  frankly  to  say  that  for  her  perversity  at  this 
period  she  had  deserved  to  miss  marrying  the  best  hus- 
band that  ever  woman  had. 

One  excuse  followed  another,  and  still  she  did  not 
come,  while  the  poor  Doctor  grew  every  day  more  angry 
and  miserable.  His  letters  to  her  are  filled  with  mingled 
reproach,  jealousy,  tenderness,  and  despair,  with  an  occa- 
sional standing  on  his  dignity  ;  hers  to  him  are  all  evasion, 
contradiction,  persuasion,  affection,  and  petulance.  The 
secret  of  the  situation  is  summoned  up  in  a  single  one  of 
her  sentences : 

"  There  was  so  much  of  force  in  the  commencement  of 
this  business,  that  my  heart  was  frightened  back  from  the 
course  it  would  naturally  have  taken." 

She  returned  at  last,  but  even  then  she  would  set  no 
day  for  the  wedding,  and  finally  Lady  Abercorn  took  the 
matter  into  her  own  hands.  One  bitter  January  morning 
she  entered  the  library  where  her  intractable  protege  was ' 
seated  before  the  fire  in  her  morning  wrapper,  and  said, 
taking  her  by  the  arm : 

"  Glorvina,  come  up  stairs  directly  and  be  married ; 
there  must  be  no  more  trifling." 

Poor  Glorvina,  too  astonished  to  protest,  submitted 
meekly  to  be  led  into  another  room,  where  Sir  Charles 
(he  had  been  knighted  at  Lord  Abercorn's  request)  stood 
awaiting  her,  in  company  with  a  chaplain  attired  in  full 
canonicals.  She  was  married  there  and  then,  and  not 
even  the  guests  in  the  house  knew  anything  about  it  until 


LADY   MORGAN.  893 

several  days  later,  when  Lord  Abercorn,  after  dinner, 
filled  his  glass  and  invited  them  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
"  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Morgan  !  " 

Lady  Morgan's  married  life  was  unusually  happy.  Her 
husband  was  devoted  to  her,  and,  far  from  being  jealous 
of  her  fast  increasing  fame,  was  extremely  proud  of  it, 
and  rendered  her  valuable  assistance  in  her  literary  labors.. 

She  in  her  turn  always  noted  with  peculiar  pleasure 
any  complimentary  reference  to  his  medical  works,  for 
he,  too,  was  an  excellent  writer  in  his  own  province,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  attentions  paid  him. 

They  soon  became  familiar  figures  in  society,  where 
Lady  Morgan's  agreeable  talents  had  always  made  her 
popular,  and  when  they  visited  the  continent  they  were 
received  at  once  into  the  most  brilliant  circles  of  Paris, 
Florence,  Rome,  and  Brussels.  In  her  "  France "  and 
'"  Italy,"  Lady  Morgan  describes  in  her  usual  vivid  manner 
many  of  the  interesting  people  whom  they  met.  In 
France  she  associated  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
Marquise  de  Villette  (the  Belle  et  Bonne  of  Voltaire), 
who  obtained  her  admission  to  the  order  of  Free  Masons. 
She  was  much  with  Talma,  who  gave  his  most  famous 
recitations  in  her  salon  ;  with  Humboldt,  of  whom  she 
always  speaks  with  reverent  affection:  and  with  that  most 
un-American  of  Americans,  Madame  Patterson-Bonaparte. 
To  us.  perhaps,  the  most  interesting  of  all  her  friends  is 
Lafayette.  She  gives  us  a  delightful  reminiscence  of  the 
Lafayette  family  at  La  Grange,  where  she  was  for  some 
time  a  favored  guest. 

"  We  arrived  at  sunset  last  evening,"  she  writes,  "  and 
the  old  tower  covered  with  the  ivy  planted  by  Charles 
Fox  shone  out  in  strong  relief  from  the  dark  woods 
behind ;  but  the  brightest  of  all  sunshine  was  the  dear 
Lafayette's  own  noble  countenance,  beaming  with  smiles 
and  cordiality  as  he  stood  at  the  castle  gate  to  receive  us, 

24 


396  LADY   MORGAN. 

tone  of  sorrow  in  Lady  Morgan's  longer  letters ;  and,  as 
she  grew  older,  it  is  sad  to  find  her  noting  the  death  of 
one  old  friend  after  another,  always  with  a  few  words  of 
genuine  appreciation. 

She  was  fond  of  society  until  the  end,  and  on  St. 
Patrick's  Day,  a  week  before. the  beginning  of  her  last 
illness,  she  gave  a  musical  morning  party,  of  which  she 
was  herself  the  life  and  soul. 

She  was  not  aware  until  the  last  that  her  illness  was 
serious,  and  she  dictated  cheerful  notes  to  her  friends 
relative  to  her  condition.  On  the  very  day  of  her  death 
she  called  for  her  desk  and  tried  to  write  a  letter,  but  was 
obliged  to  give  up  the  attempt.  Shortly  after,  her  breath 
began  to  fail  her,  and  she  turned  to  her  favorite  niece, 
who  was  supporting  her,  and  asked,  "  Sydney,  is  this 
death?" 

After  that  she  only  spoke  a  few  times  to  thank  her 
friends  and  her  servants,  who  were  also  her  friends,  for 
the  services  they  rendered  her.  She  died  quietly  and 
painlessly,  in  the  evening  of  April  16,  1859,  aged  about 
seventy-six  years. 

So  lived  and  so  died  the  Wild  Irish  Girl.  She  was  the 
joy  of  every  circle  she  entered,  and  her  works,  some  of 
which  are  still  read  with  pleasure,  form  an  agreeable  part 
of  the  record  of  her  time. 


. 


XXXII. 

MARIA  THERESA. 

OUGHT  women  to  vote  ?  This  is  one  of  the  questions 
of  the  day.  Many  men  would  be  disposed  to  favor 
the  admission  of  women  to  the  ballot  but  for  one  objection. 
If,  say  they,  women  can  vote  for  President,  why  should 
they  not  be  eligible  to  the  office  of  President  ?  Very 
well ;  suppose  they  were.  When  we  consider  that  the  two 
greatest  empires  of  modern  times  have  been  governed  by 
women,  and  when  we  consider  also  how  many  of  the 
nations  of  the  earth  have  been  governed  badly  by  men, 
why  should  we  think  it  so  terrible  a  thing  to  have  a  woman 
at  the  head  of  this  Republic  ?  It  is  true,  we  are  not 
likely  to  witness  such  an  event,  but  if  it  should  occur, 
the  nation  would  probably  survive  it. 

Let  us  see  in  what  manner  the  great  Maria  Theresa 
ruled  for  forty  years  the  extensive  and  ill-assorted  empire 
of  Austria. 

Born  in  1717,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Emperor, 
Charles  VI,  she  married  in  her  nineteenth  year,  Francis, 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  and  in  her  twenty-third  year,  upon 
the  death  of  her  father,  was  proclaimed  Empress  of  the 
sixteen  different  states  and  territories  which  made  up  the 
Austrian  empire.  Her  father  was  a  man  of  limited 
capacity,  though  of  respectable  character,  and  left  to  his 
daughter  an  empty  treasury,  a  small,  disorganized  army, 
and  a  disputed  succession.  Although  all  the  great  pow- 
ers, during  the  lifetime  of  the  Emperor,  had  solemnly 
engaged  to  recognize  his  daughter  as  the  legitimate  heir, 

"(399) 


400  MARIA    THERESA. 

no  sooner  had  the  news  of  his  death  spread  over  Europe, 
than  all  of  them,  except  the  King  of  England,  questioned 
her  claims,  and  several  of  them  took  measures  to  seize 
portions  of  her  inheritance.  It  was  the  general  opinion 
of  Europe  that  the  impoverished  empire,  under  the  sway 
of  a  young  woman,  would  fall  to  pieces  almost  of  itself, 
and  that  the  only  question  was,  respecting  the  division  of 
its  provinces  among  adjacent  states. 

While  the  other  powers  were  negotiating  and  arming  with 
a  view  to  the  dismemberment  of  Austria,  Frederick  II,  the 
young  King  of  Prussia,  availing  himself  of  the  splendid 
army  and  the  vast  treasures  accumulated  by  his  father, 
suddenly  invaded  the  Austrian  province  of  Silesia,  and 
marched  with  such  rapidity  that,  in  a  few  weeks,  he  had 
possessed  himself  of  almost  the  whole  province.  Fred- 
erick then  offered  to  the  young  Empress  to  establish  her 
in  the  possession  of  all  her  other  states,  and  to  give  her 
a  subsidy  of  five  million  of  francs,  on  the  single  condition 
of  her  ceding  to  Prussia  the  province  of  Silesia,  which 
Frederick  claimed  as  rightfully  belonging  to  his  kingdom. 
Threatened  as  she  was  by  France,  Holland,  and  Spain, 
it  would  have  been  only  prudent  in  her  to  have  accepted 
this  offer.  But  with  the  Imperial  crown,  she  inherited 
also  an  Imperial  pride.  She  rejected  the  proposal  with 
as  much  promptitude  and  disdain,  as  though  she  had 
been  the  mistress  of  powerful  armies  and  inexhaustible 
treasuries. 

In  this  extremity  she  repaired  to  Hungary,  where  the 
celebrated  scene  occurred  with  the  Diet  of  that  country. 
Presenting  to  the  assembled  nobles  her  infant  child,  she 
appealed  to  their  compassion  and  their  loyalty,  saying, 
With  tears  in  her  eyes : 

"  I  have  no  allies  but  you  in  the  world." 

"Whereupon,  her  husband  shouted  : 

"  Life  and  blood  for  our  Queen  and  kingdom." 


MARIA    THERESA.  401 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  the  members  of  the  Diet,  "  our  life 
and  blood." 

Some  timely  help,  too,  came  from  George  II  of 
England,  and  it  was  with  English  guineas  and  Hungarian 
horsemen  that  she  endeavored  to  expel  Frederick  from 
Silesia,  and  keep  at  bay  the  armies  of  France  and  Spain. 
Such  enthusiasm  was  there  for  her  in  England,  that  a 
public  subscription  was  started  for  her  benefit.  The 
Duchess  of  Marlborough  subscribed  the  extraordinary 
sum  of  forty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  and  other  ladies 
of  London  a  hundred  thousand  more  —  so  touched  were 
the  susceptible  hearts  of  the  English  people  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  defending  her 
hereditary  rights  against  such  numerous  and  powerful 
enemies.  The  Empress,  however,  thought  it  due  to  her 
dignity  to  decline  this  friendly  succor,  and  said  to  the 
ladies,  that  she  would  defend  her  states  by  the  help  of 
her  loyal  subjects  alone.  It  added  to  the  general  interest 
in  her  fortunes,  that  she  was  about  again  to  become  a 
mother,  and  knew  not,  as  she  said,  whether  there  would 
remain  to  her  a  city  in  which  she  could  give  birth  to  her 
child. 

Despite  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  Hungarians,  she  was 
compelled  to  yield  Silesia  to  the  King  of  Prussia  in  order 
to  detach  him  from  the  coalition  against  her.  She  then 
waged  successful  war  against  her  other  enemies  until,  in 
the  eighth  year  of  her  reign,  she  concluded  a  treaty  of 
peace  which  left  her  mistress  of  all  the  ancient  posses- 
sions of  her  house,  excepting  alone  the  fine  province 
wrested  from  her  by  the  invincible  Frederick. 

After  this  eight  years  of  most  desperate  and  desolating 
warfare,  Maria  Theresa  enjoyed  a  precious  interval  of 
seven  years  of  peace ;  which  is  about  the  duration  of  two 
presidential  terms.  Then  it  was  that,  for  the  first  time, 
she  could  display  the  gentler  and  benevolent  traits  of  her 


402  MARIA    THERESA. 

character.  She  employed  her  power  to  encourage  agri 
culture  and  reanimate  trade.  She  removed  tariffs  and 
other  barbarous  restrictions  from  the  commerce  with 
foreign  nations.  She  caused  new  and  better  roads  to  b<i 
constructed.  She  decorated  her  capital  with  grand  and 
useful  edifices.  Directly  through  her  encouragement,  her 
subjects  began  to  manufacture  woolen  cloths,  silk,  and 
porcelain,  which  remain  to  this  day  important  branches 
of  the  national  industry.  Not  content  with  these  merely 
material  works,  she  founded  a  University,  several  colleges, 
schools  of  architecture  and  design,  and  three  observato- 
ries. She  took  great  pains  to  make  her  subjects 
acquainted  with  improved  methods  of  healing  the  sick. 
For  the  old  soldiers  who  had  shed  their  blood  in  her 
cause,  she  erected  hospitals  and  asylums.  She  pensioned 
the  widows  and  dowered  the  daughters  of  officers  who 
had  fallen  in  war.  Above  all,  in  her  own  life,  and  in  the 
government  and  education  of  her  family,  she  set  an 
example  of  purity,  wisdom,  and  devotion,  which  every 
mother  in  the  world  could  study  with  profit.  She  did 
not  think  that  the  labors  of  governing  an  empire  exempted 
her  from  the  ordinary  responsibilities  of  life.  She  became 
the  mother  of  ten  children,  four  sons  and  six  daughters, 
all  of  whom  survived  her,  and  all  of  them,  I  believe,  did 
honor  to  the  character  of  their  mother. 

But  she  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  the  loss  of  her 
darling  Silesia.  Always  looking  forward  to  the  time 
when  she  should  be  in  a  position  to  recover  that  province, 
she  strengthened  and  disciplined  her  army  continually, 
and  founded  military  schools  where  officers  could  be 
trained  capable  of  coping  with  the  veterans  of  the  Prus- 
sian king.  At  the  same  time  she  prepared  the  way,  by 
able  diplomacy,  to  combine  the  powers  of  Europe  against 
the  ambitious  Prussians.  She  stooped  even  to  flatter  the 
mistress  of  the  King  of  France,  Madame  de  Pompadour, 


MARIA    THERESA.  403 

whom,  in  notes  still  existing,  she  styled  "  my  dear  friend." 
The  great  Frederick,  on  the  contrary,  would  never  con- 
descend to  notice,  officially,  the  existence  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  and  made  her  his  bitter  foe  by  his  contemptu- 
ous silence  and  stinging  sarcasm.  He  used  to  call  her 
"  Petticoat  III,"  in  allusion  to  the  fact  that  she  was  the 
third  mistress  of  Louis  XV;  and  there  were  always 
about  the  two  courts  busy  adherents  of  the  Empress  to 
convey  to  the  ears  of  Pompadour  the  sneering  wit  of  the 
Prussian  monarch. 

By  such  arts,  and  others  more  legitimate,  Maria  Theresa 
united  against  Frederick  the  sovereigns  of  France,  Eng- 
land, Russia,  and  of  several  of  the  States  of  Germany, 
not  doubting  for  a  moment  that  a  kingdom  of  five  mil- 
lions of  souls  must  of  necessity  succumb  before  a  com- 
bination of  States,  the  united  population  of  which  was 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  millions. 

But  she  did  not  know  her  enemy.  Informed  of  the 
secret  treaty  for  the  destruction  of  his  kingdom  and  its 
division  among  his  enemies,  Frederick  suddenly  marched 
with  sixty  thousand  men,  and  overran  Saxony  and  Bohe- 
mia, and  thus  began  the  famous  Seven  Years'  War, 
which  only  ended  when  the  enemies  of  Frederick, 
exhausted  of  men  and  money,  were  compelled  to  leave 
him  in  peaceful  possession  of  the  province  he  had  seized. 
It  must  be  avowed,  however,  that,  in  all  probability, 
Frederick  would  have  been  overwhelmed  and  finally 
defeated,  but  for  the  accession  to  the  throne  of  Russia  of 
Peter  III.  This  emperor  had  conceived  such  a  passionate 
admiration  of  the  character  and  exploits  of  the  Prussian 
king  that  the  moment  he  came  upon  the  throne  he  aban- 
doned the  coalition,  and  withdrew  his  armies  from  the 
seat  of  war.  This  event  occurred  in  the  very  nick  of 
time.  It  relieved  Frederick  and  completed  the  discour- 
agement of  his  enemies. 


401  MARIA    THERESA. 

After  the  restoration  of  peace,  Maria  Theresa  renewed 
her  exertions  for  the  welfare  of  her  people.  Though  a 
devout  Roman  Catholic,  she  resisted  the  efforts  of  the 
Pope  to  control  the  ecclesiastical  affairs  of  her  empire, 
and  so  checked  the  power  of  the  Inquisition  that  her 
successors  were  able  to  suppress  that  terrible  institution. 
One  of  her  best  acts  was  the  abolition  of  torture  in  the 
administration  of  justice — a  reform  which  was  greatly 
due  to  the  eloquent  and  pathetic  denunciations  of  Vol- 
taire. At  that  time,  in  almost  every  country,  criminals 
were  put  to  the  torture,  either  to  compel  them  to  confess 
their  own  guilt  or  to  reveal  the  names  of  their  accom- 
plices. The  unhappy  prisoner,  pale  and  trembling  with 
terror,  was  conducted  to  a  vault  underground,  and  there, 
in  the  presence  of  a  magistrate  and  recording  clerks,  he 
was  subjected  to  increasing  degrees  of  anguish,  until  the 
attending  surgeon  decided  that  he  could  bear  no  more 
without  danger  of  his  life.  Many  poor  wretches,  to  gain 
a  moment's  respite  from  agony,  accused  innocent  persons, 
who,  denying  their  guilt,  were  in  turn  subjected  to  the 
same  infernal  cruelty.  The  first  monarch  of  continental 
Europe  to  abolish  this  most  irrational  and  horrid  system 
was  Frederick  the  Great ;  the  second  was  Catherine  II, 
of  Russia;  the  third  was  Maria  Theresa;  the  fourth  was 
Louis  XVI,  of  France.  Readers  may  remember  that 
when  the  benevolent  Howard  made  his  tours  among  the 
jails  of  Europe,  about  the  time  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion, he  found  the  torture  chamber  in  almost  every  city 
that  he  visited,  and  in  many  of  them  it  was  still  employed. 

It  used  to  be  considered  a  stain  upon  the  administra- 
tion of  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa  that  she  consented  to 
the  dismemberment  of  Poland,  and  to  accept  a  large  por- 
tion of  that  country  as  her  share  of  the  spoil.  More 
recent  writers,  however,  who  have  looked  into  that  affair 
closely,  are  disposed  to  think  the  act  justifiable  and  even 


MARIA    THERESA.  405 

necessary.  One  thing  is  pretty  certain  ;  if  a  country  can 
be  dismembered,  it  soon  will  be,  unless  it  is  the  interest 
of  some  great  power  or  powers  to  protect  it. 

Mary  Theresa  died  in  1780,  aged  63,  bequeathing  to 
her  son,  Joseph,  an  empire  far  more  united,  prosperous, 
and  powerful  than  the  Austria  which  she  inherited  from 
her  father.  When  the  news  of  her  death  was  brought  to 
Frederick,  the  greatest  of  her  enemies,  he  wrote  to  his 
friend,  D'Alembert,  the  French  author : 

"  I  have  shed  some  very  sincere  tears  at  her  death. 
She  has  done  honor  to  her  sex  and  to  the  throne.  I  have 
made  war  upon  her,  but  I  have  never  been  her  enemy." 

Of  the  female  sovereigns  of  Europe  in  modern  times, 
Maria  Theresa  was,  probably,  the  ablest  and  the  most 
virtuous.  Her  errors  were  those  of  her  rank  and  blood  ; 
her  good  actions  were  the  result  of  her  own  noble  heart 
and  generous  mind.  Austria  still  styles  her  the  Mother 
of  her  country,  and  remembers  with  fondness  one  of  her 
sayings : 

"  I  reproach  myself  for  the  time  I  consume  in  sleep ; 
it  is  so  much  taken  away  from  the  service  of  my  people." 


XXXIII. 

LADY  FRANKLIN. 

THREE  women  have  a  claim  to  be  associated  with 
the  name  of  Sir  John  Franklin.  The  lady  whom 
he  first  married,  Miss  Eleanor  Porden,  is  one  of  them. 
It  way  she  who,  knowing  how  fatal  a  brief  delay  may  be 
to  an  arctic  expedition,  bade  her  husband  set  sail  for  the 
northern  seas  at  the  appointed  time,  although  she  was 
then  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  He  sailed,  and  it 
proved  to  be  her  last  wish  that  he  obeyed,  for  she  died 
the  day  after  his  departure. 

His  second  wife  was  the  Lady  Franklin  of  whom  all 
the  world  has  heard.  It  was  to  her  untiring  efforts  (in 
all  of  which  she  was  devotedly  aided  by  Sir  John's  niece, 
the  late  Miss  Sophia  Cracroft),  that  the  solution  to  the 
mystery  which  so  long  shrouded  the  fate  of  the  explorer 
and  his  ill-starred  vessels,  was  due. 

Lady  Franklin,  whose  maiden  name  was  Jane  Griffin, 
was  born  in  1794,  and  was  married  to  Sir  John  Franklin 
in  1828,  when  she  was  thirty-four  years  of  age.  Ten 
years  later  she  accompanied  him  to  Van  Dicman's  Land, 
(now  Tasmania,)  of  which  he  had  been  appointed  gov- 
ernor. She  early  gained  the  good  wrill  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  was  noted  among  them  both  for  her  many  deeds  of 
private  beneficence,  and  for  the  active,  efficient  aid  which 
she  rendered  her  husband  in  his  public  duties.  She 
showed  especial  interest  in  the  welfare  of  poor  emigrants, 
and  of  the  convicts  who,  after  transportation  to  New  South 
Wales  was  abolished,  were   sent  to   Tasmania  from  all 

(400) 


LADY  FHAXKLTN. 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  407 

parts  of  the  British  Empire.  That  Sir  John  and  Lady 
Franklin  acquired,  not  only  the  approval,  but  the  affection  of 
the  colonists,  is  shown  by  the  comments  of  the  local  press 
upon  their  departure  for  England  at  the  expiration  of 
Sir  John's  administration.  A  few  years  later  Lady 
Franklin  had  the  melancholy  pleasure  of  receiving  from 
them  a  large  sum  of  money  to  assist  her  in  prosecuting 
her  search  for  her  lost  husband  and  the  records  of  his 
expedition,  and  they  further  testified  their  remembrance  of 
him  by  erecting  a  statue  in  his  honor  at  Hobart  Town. 

Sir  John's  success  as  an  arctic  discoverer  led  the 
English  government  in  1845  to  offer  him  the  command 
of  an  expedition  to  sail  in  search  of  the  Northwest  pas- 
sage, a  duty  which  he  gladly  accepted.  Two  ships,  the 
"  Erebus"  and  "  Terror,"  were  provided,  and  an  additional 
transport  to  convey  stores  as  far  as  Disco,  in  Greenland. 
These  three  vessels  sailed  from  Greenhithe  on  the  nine- 
teenth of  May. 

The  "  Erebus  "  and  "  Terror,"  which  were  fine  ships 
fitted  expressly  for  arctic  service,  and  victualled  for  three 
years,  were  last  seen  in  Baffin's  Bay  by  a  whaler,  lying 
moored  to  an  iceberg.  All  was  then  going  well.  In 
letters  written  home  a  few  days  previous  to  this,  the 
officers  of  the  expedition  expressed  ardent  hope  and  per- 
fect confidence  in  their  commander,  while  Sir  John  him- 
self, writing  to  Lady  Franklin,  assured  her  cheerfully  of 
his  well-being,  and  dwelt  upon  the  future  with  joyous 
anticipations  of  success.  Not  one  of  his  hundred  and 
thirty-four  officers  and  men  lived  to  return. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  nothing  further  having  been 
heard  from  the  expedition,  preparations  were  begun  for 
the  too  probable  necessity  of  sending  them  assistance. 
As  time  passed  the  feeling  of  uneasiness  deepened,  and 
at  last  was  begun  that  noble  series  of  attempts  made  by 
both  English  and  Americans,  which  resulted  after  four- 
teen years  only  in  the  sad  discovery  of  the  truth. 


408  LADY   FRANKLIN. 

In  1848  three  expeditions,  expensively  fitted  out  and 
ably  commanded,  were  sent  by  the  government  in  search 
of  the  missing  explorers.  They  all  failed ;  but  the  failure 
did  not  cause  discouragement  either  to  the  government 
or  the  people  of  England.  It  served  instead  as  a  spur, 
urging  them  to  new  efforts,  made  on  a  scale  that  would 
insure  success.  The  first  step  was  taken  by  the  Lords 
of  the  Admiralty,  who  in  March,  1849,  offered  a  reward 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  who 
should  render  efficient  aid  to  Sir  John  Franklin  or  his 
men.  A  second  reward  of  three  thousand  pounds  was 
offered  by  Lady  Franklin,  who  also,  at  her  own  expense, 
sent  a  supply  of  coal  and  provisions  to  be  deposited  on 
the  coast  of  Lancaster  Sound.  These  were  landed  upon 
the  conspicuous  promontory  of  Cape  Hay,  for  the  use  of 
the  missing  party,  should  they  visit  that  region.  She  had 
already  sent,  by  a  ship  of  one  of  the  earlier  expeditions, 
a  large  quantity  of  similar  stores,  which  had  been  buried 
at  prominent  points  along  the  coast,  the  place  being 
marked  in  each  case  by  a  tall  signal  post,  with  an  arrow 
painted  upon  it,  pointing  out  the  exact  spot  where  the 
articles  were  concealed. 

It  was  in  this  year  also  that  she  addressed  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  her  well-known  appeal,  in  which 
she  called  upon  the  Americans  as  a  "  kindred  people  to 
join  heart  and  hand  in  the  enterprise  of  snatching  the 
lost  navigators  from  a  dreary  grave."  After  referring  to 
the  reward  offered  by  the  British  Government,  she  said : 

"  This  announcement,  which,  even  if  the  sum  offered 
had  been  doubled  or  trebled,  would  have  met  with  public 
approbation,  comes,  however,  too  late  for  our  whalers 
which  had  unfortunately  sailed  before  it  was  issued,  and 
which,  even  if  the  news  should  overtake  them  at  their 
fishing  grounds,  are  totally  unfitted  for  any  prolonged 
adventure,  having  only  a  few  months'  provisions  on  board, 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  409 

and  no  additional  clothing.  To  the  American  whalers, 
both  in  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  I  look  with  more  hope 
as  competitors  for  the  prize,  being  well  aware  of  their 
number  and  strength,  their  thorough  equipment,  and  the 
bold  spirit  of  enterprise  that  animates  their  crews.  But 
I  venture  to  look  even  beyond  these.  I  am  not  without 
hope  that  you  will  deem  it  not  unworthy  of  a  great  and 
kindred  nation  to  take  up  the  cause  of  humanity  in  which 
I  plead  in  a  national  spirit,  and  thus  generously  make  it 
your  own." 

The  Secretary  of  State,  Mr.  Clayton,  at  once  sent  an 
encouraging  reply  to  Lady  Franklin,  and  President  Taylor, 
calling  the  attention  of  Congress  to  the  matter  in  a  special 
message,  stated  his  earnest  desire  that  all  possible  assist- 
ance should  be  rendered.  He  had  already  caused  notice 
of  the  rewards  offered,  and  information  regarding  the 
probable  means  of  finding  the  lost  vessels,  to  be  circulated 
among  whalers  and  seafaring  men  all  over  the  country. 
Popular  feeling  favored  Lady  Franklin  and  her  cause, 
and  when  Mr.  Henry  Grinnell  of  New  York  offered  to 
provide  two  fully  equipped  vessels  at  his  own  expense, 
asking  only  that  the  government  would  transfer  to  them 
some  thirty  men  from  the  navy,  there  was  a  general 
desire  that  the  proposition  should  be  accepted.  Memo- 
rials to  that  effect  were  sent  to  Congress  from  the  cities 
of  New  York  and  Philadelphia.  The  matter  was  not 
decided,  however,  for  a  year. 

In  1850  the  two  Grinnell  vessels,  the  "  Advance"  and 
"  Rescue,"  sailed  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  De 
Haven.  In  the  same  year  and  for  the  same  purpose  there 
went  from  England,  in  all,  ten  other  vessels.  Of  these 
two,  the  "  Lady  Franklin,"  a  fine  vessel  of  two  hundred  and 
twenty  tons,  and  the  "  Sophia"  (named  after  Miss  Cracroft), 
a  brig  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  tons,  were  fitted  out  at 
Lady  Franklin's  desire  and  mainly  at  her  own  expense. 


410  LADY   FRANKLIN. 

They  were  placed  under  the  command  of  Captain  Penny. 
A  third  vessel,  the  "  Prince  Albert,"  was  paid  for  by  Lady 
Franklin  and  her  friends.  She  defrayed  two-thirds  of  the 
expense  by  means  of  selling  out  of  the  funds  all  the 
money  which  she  could  legally  dispose  of.  The  com- 
mander of  the  "Albert"  was  Captain  Forsyth, who  volun- 
teered for  the  service  and  would  accept  no  pay.  Indeed, 
the  number  of  volunteers  who  desired  no  other  compensa- 
tion than  the  honor  of  aiding  in  the  search  was  a  marked 
feature  in  the  long  series  of  arctic  voyages  made  with 
the  intent  of  learning  Sir  John  Franklin's  fate. 

The  result  of  the  daring  and  persistent  explorations  of 
these  twelve  vessels  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words. 
Captain  Ommaney,  commanding  the  "  Assistance,"  dis- 
covered at  Beachy  Head  traces  of  an  encampment  which 
he  supposed  to  be  Franklin's.  Lieutenant  De  Haven, 
of  the  American  expedition,  landed  and  confirmed  the 
discovery.  Captain  Penny  of  the  "  Lady  Franklin  "  visited 
the  same  place,  explored  it  thoroughly,  and  found  all  the 
indications  of  a  winter  encampment,  and  the  graves  of 
three  of  Franklin's  men.  The  dates  upon  the  headboards 
showed  that  the  party  had  been  there  during  the  winter 
of  1845-6 — that  is,  the  first  winter  after  leaving  England. 

In  the  summer  of  1851  the  twelve  vessels  returned 
home,  one  after  another.  The  "  Prince  Albert,"  however, 
was  not  allowed  to  remain  long  in  English  waters.  Lady 
Franklin  caused  her  to  be  elaborately  and  expensively 
refitted,  her  bow  and  stern  sheathed  with  wrought  iron, 
her  sides  protected  by  planking,  and  sent  her  forth  again 
to  brave  the  perils  of  the  North.  She  sailed  in  June, 
1851,  from  Stromness,  and  Lady  Franklin  herself  came 
down  to  see  her  off.  After  a  touching  farewell  to  officers 
and  men,  she  watched  her  standing  out  to  sea,  the  Union 
Jack  streaming  from  her  peak  and  the  French  flag  flying 
at  the   fore.     This   was  in  honor  of   Lieutenant  Bellot 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  411 

(second  in  command),  a  young  Frenchman  whom  a 
romantic  love  of  adventure  had  led  to  leave  his  native 
country  and  offer  his  services  to  Lady  Franklin. 

In  1852  the  English  government  sent  out  another  expe- 
dition of  five  vessels  under  the  command  of  Sir  Edward 
Belcher.  In  the  same  year,  in  consequence  of  a  rumor 
received  through  an  Esquimaux  interpreter,  that  Sir  John 
and  his  crews  had  been  murdered  at  Wolstenholine 
Sound,  Lady  Franklin  refitted  the  screw  steamer  "  Isabel  " 
and  sent  her  to  investigate  the  report,  which  proved  to  be 
wholly  false.  The  next  year  this  steamer  was  again 
refitted  at  her  expense,  and  carried  supplies  to  Captains 
Collinson  and  M'Clure  of  the  government  expedition  at 
Beh ring  Strait. 

But  it  was  not  until  1854  that  further  authentic  tidings 
were  obtained  of  the  missing  explorers.  In  that  year 
Dr.  Rae,  at  the  head  of  a  land  party  sent  by  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  learned  from  the  Esquimaux  that,  in  1850, 
about  forty  white  men  had  been  seen  dragging  a  boat 
near  the  north  shore  of  King  William's  Island,  and  that, 
later  in  the  season,  they  had  all  died  from  cold  and 
hunger.  The  story  was  confirmed  by  the  finding  among 
the  Esquimaux  of  articles  once  the  property  of  Sir  John 
and  his  officers,  all  of  which  Dr.  Rae  secured  and  brought 
back  with  him.  He  obtained  the  reward  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  offered  by  the  Admiralty  to  whomsoever  should 
first  ascertain  the  fate  of  the  missing  expedition.  A 
search  party  sent  next  year  by  the  government  to  the 
spot  mentioned  by  the  Esquimaux,  recovered  many 
further  relics. 

Lady  Franklin  was  not  satisfied.  She  had  given  up 
all  hope  of  her  husband's  life.  He  had  been  ten  years 
lost ;  his  party  was  provisioned  for  but  three  years  ;  and 
he  was  sixty  years  old  when  he  sailed.  But  her  feelings 
did  not  permit  her  to  rest  until  she  had  rescued  any  possi- 

25 


412  LADY   FRANKLIN. 

ble  survivor  and  recovered  the  records  of  the  expedition, 
if  they  yet  existed.  She  appealed  to  Lord  Palrnerston  to 
make  one  further  attempt.  In  her  memorial  she  dwelt  with 
especial  emphasis  upon  the  incident  of  the  "  Resolute," 
abandoned  by  the  English  during  a  government  search 
expedition,  found  by  an  American  whaler,  refitted,  and 
presented  by  Congress  to  the  Queen. 

"  My  Lord,"  she  says,  "  you  will  not  let  this  rescued  and 
restored  ship,  emblematic  of  so  many  enlightened  and 
generous  sentiments,  fail  even  partially  in  her  signifi- 
cant mission.  I  venture  to  hope  that  she  will  be 
accepted  in  the  spirit  in  which  she  is  sent.  I  humbly 
trust  that  the  American  people,  and  especially  that  phil- 
anthropic citizen  who  has  spent  so  largely  of  his  private 
fortune  in  the  search  for  the  lost  ships,  and  to  whom 
was  committed  by  his  government  the  entire  charge  of 
the  equipment  of  the  '  Resolute,'  will  be  rewarded  for 
this  signal  act  of  sympathy  by  seeing  her  restored  to  her 
original  vocation,  so  that  she  may  bring  back  from  the 
Arctic  seas,  if  not  some  living  remnant  of  our  long-lost 
countrymen,  yet  at  least  the  proofs  that  they  have  nobly 
perished." 

She  adds,  that  should  her  request  be  denied,  she  will 
herself  send  out  a  vessel.  The  Government,  busy  with 
affairs  in  the  east,  was  not  willing  to  fit  out  another  expe- 
dition. 

She  kept  her  word.  The  last  and  most  successful  of 
this  long  series  of  adventures  and  perilous  searches,  was 
due  solely  to  her  heroic  persistence.  Aided  by  subscrip- 
tions from  her  friends,  she  bought  and  refitted  for  Arctic 
service  the  screw  yacht  "  Fox."  Captain  M'Clintock, 
already  distinguished  in  former  search  expeditions,  was 
placed  in  command  of  her,  and  she  sailed  upon  the  last 
day  of  June,  1857.  Lady  Franklin,  accompanied  by  Miss 
Cracroft,  came  on  board  to  bid  the  officers  farewell. 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  413 

Captain  M'Clintock,  observing  her  agitation,  tried  to 
repress  the  enthusiasm  of  his  men,  but  in  vain.  As  she 
left  the  vessel  she  was  saluted  by  the  crew  with  three 
prolonged,  thundering  cheers. 

Her  letter  of  instruction  to  Captain  M'Clintock  is  so 
characteristic  that  I  give  it  in  full : 
"  My  dear  Captain  3T  Clintock : 

"  You  have  kindly  invited  me  to  give  you  '  instructions,' 
but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  feel  that  it  would  be  right 
in  me  in  any  way  to  influence  your  judgment  in  the  con- 
duct of  your  noble  undertaking ;  and  indeed  I  have  no 
temptation  to  do  so,  since  it  appears  to  me  that  your 
views  are  almost  identical  with  those  which  I  had  inde- 
pendently formed  before  I  had  the  advantage  of  being 
thoroughly  possessed  of  yours.  But  had  this  been  other- 
wise, I  trust  you  would  have  found  me  ready  to  prove 
the  implicit  confidence  I  place  in  you  by  yielding  my  own 
views  to  your  more  enlightened  judgment ;  knowing,  too, 
as  I  do,  that  your  whole  heart  also  is  in  the  cause,  even 
as  my  own  is.  As  to  the  objects  of  the  expedition  and 
their  relative  importance,  I  am  sure  you  know  that  the 
rescue  of  any  possible  survivor  of  the  '  Erebus '  and 
'  Terror '  would  be  to  me,  as  it  would  to  you,  the  noblest 
result  of  our  efforts. 

"  To  this  object  I  wish  every  other  to  be  subordinate  ; 
and,  next  to  it  in  importance,  is  the  recovery  of  the 
unspeakably  precious  documents  of  the  expedition,  pub- 
lic and  private,  and  the  personal  relics  of  my  dear  hus- 
band and  his  companions. 

"  And  lastly,  I  trust  it  may  be  in  your  power  to  confirm, 
directly  or  inferentially,  the  claims  of  my  husband's  expe- 
dition to  the  earliest  discovery  of  the  passage,  which,  if 
Dr.  Rae's  report  be  true  (and  the  Government  of  our 
country  has  accepted  and  rewarded  it  as  such),  these 
martyrs  in  a  noble  cause  achieved  at  their  last  extremity 


414  LADY   FIIANKLIN. 

after  five  long  years  of  labor  and  suffering,  if  not  an 
earlier  period. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  do  all  that  man  can  do  for  the 
attainment  of  all  these  objects  ;  my  only  fear  is  that  you 
may  spend  yourselves  too  much  in  the  effort ;  and  you 
must  therefore  let  me  tell  you  how  much  dearer  to  me 
even  than  any  of  them  is  the  preservation  of  the  valuable 
lives  of  the  little  band  of  heroes  who  are  your  compan- 
ions and  followers. 

"  May  God  in  his  great  mercy  preserve  you  all  from 
harm  amidst  the  labors  and  perils  which  await  you,  and 
restore  you  to  us  in  health  and  safety,  as  well  as  honor ! 
As  to  the  honor  I  can  have  no  misgiving.  It  will  be 
yours  as  much  if  you  fail  (since  you  may  fail  in  spite  of 
every  effort)  as  if  you  succeed;  and  be  assured  that, 
under  any  and  all  circumstances  whatever,  such  is  my 
unbounded  confidence  in  you,  you  will  ever  possess  and 
be  entitled  to  the  enduring  gratitude  of  your  sincere 
and  attached  friend,  Jane  Fkanklin." 

The  confidence  expressed  in  this  letter  was  not  mis- 
placed. Captain  M'Clintock's  heart  was  indeed  in  the 
work,  and  his  enthusiasm  was  shared  alike  by  officers 
and  crew.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  them  all 
when  in  August  their  vessel  wTas  caught  in  the  ice  in 
Melville  Bay,  and  they  were  obliged  to  remain  in  the 
pack,  drifting  with  it  when  it  drifted,  until  the  next  spring. 
During  this  long  detention  Ladv  Franklin  was  often  in 
their  thoughts,  and  they  spoke  ■  sorrowfully  of  the  grief 
she  would  experience  when  she  learned  of  the  delay. 
The  feeling  of  the  crew  towards  her  was  described  by 
Captain  M'Clintock  as  "  veneration."  She  was  remembered 
on  all  their  holidays,  and  at  their  Christmas  dinner  her 
health  and  that  of  Miss  Cracroft  were  drunk  with  accla- 
mations.    It  was  also  unanimously  resolved,  after  the 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  415 

killing  of  the  first  bear,  that  its  skin  should  be  presented 
to  her  as  a  joint  gift  from  the  officers  and  crew,  all  of 
whom  had  assisted  in  the  hunt. 

At  last  the  "  Fox  "  escaped  from  the  ice  and  proceeded 
upon  her  way.  In  May,  1859,  one  of  her  officers,  Lieu- 
tenant Hobson,  discovered  a  cairn  containing  a  record  of 
the  lost  expedition.  This  record  consisted  of  a  note, 
written  in  1847,  stating  their  success  up  to  that  time,  and 
adding  that  all  were  well.  But  around  the  margin  another 
hand,  writing  a  year  later,  gave  a  sadly  different  story. 

From  this  writer,  who  was  Captain  Fitzjames,  we  learn 
that  Sir  John  Franklin  died  June  eleventh,  1847,  and 
that  in  April  of  the  next  year,  only  two  days  before  the 
date  of  this  record,  the  "Erebus"  and  "Terror"  were 
abandoned,  and  their  crews  landed  under  the  command 
of  Captain  Crozier.  A  note  in  Captain  Crozier's  hand- 
writing added  that  they  were  to  start  the  next  day  for 
Back's  Fish  River. 

To  this  river,  accordingly,  the  searchers  of  the  "  Fox  " 
proceeded ;  and  there  they  found  numerous  relics  of  the 
party,  including  silver  articles  marked  with  Sir  John 
Franklin's  crest,  a  boat,  watches,  clothing,  and  several 
skeletons.  Tli£  Esquimaux  of  the  region  remembered 
the  coming  of  these  strangers,  and  said  that  all  of  them 
had  perished  of  cold  and  hunger ;  which  was,  indeed,  but 
too  evident. 

"  They  would  fall  down  and  die  as  they  walked  along 
the  ice,"  said  an  old  Esquimaux  woman  to  Captain 
M'Clintock. 

With  this  news  the  "  Fox  "  returned  to  England.  Sad 
as  the  certainty  was,  it  must  have  been  a  relief  to  Lady 
Franklin  to  receive  it.  She  learned  from  the  earlier  of 
the  two  notes  in  the  cairn,  that  her  husband  had  attained 
the  great  object  of  his  expedition  ;  he  had  discovered  the 
Northwest  Passage.     From  the  second  note  she  learned 


416  LADY   FRANKLIN. 

that  it  had  been  his  great  good  fortune  to  die  on  board 
his  ship,  escaping  all  the  horrors  of  that  terrible  overland 
march.  Indeed,  he  died  before  the  expedition  had 
experienced  anything  other  than  brilliant  and  striking 
success. 

In  1860,  Lady  Franklin  was  presented  with  a  gold 
medal  by  the  Royal  Geographical  Society.  She  died  in 
1875.  The  monument  erected  to  her  husband  in  West- 
minster Abbey  records,  after  his  exploits  and  his  fate,  her 
name,  her  devotion,  the  date  of  her  death,  and  the 
inseparable  connection  of  her  fame  with  his. 


XXXIV. 

MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 

CHAEITY  is  of  no  age,  race,  or  country.  Travelers 
among  the  most  savage  tribes  find  kind  and  com- 
passionate hearts,  and  some  of  the  most  excellent  institu- 
tions of  benevolence  have  been  founded  in  times  of  the 
grossest  corruption  of  manners  and  morals.  In  the  worst 
periods  there  are  always  some  who  preserve  their  integrity, 
and  assert  by  their  conduct  the  dignity  of  human  nature. 

Madame  de  Miramion,  a  French  lady  of  rank  and 
fortune,  born  in  1629,  passed  the  whole  of  her  life  near 
the  showy  and  licentious  court  of  Louis  XIV,  and  in  the 
society  of  Paris,  when  that  society  was  most  devoted  to 
pleasure.  But  from  her  childhood  she  was  drawn 
irresistibly  to  a  nobler  life,  and  she  spent  the  greater  part 
of  her  existence  in  alleviating  human  anguish,  and  found- 
ing institutions  which  have  continued  the  same  beneficent 
office  ever  since.  A  beauty  and  an  heiress,  she  turned 
away  from  the  pleasures  of  her  circle  at  the  age  when 
they  are  usually  most  alluring.  At  nine  years  of  age  the 
death  of  her  mother,  a  woman  devoted  to  piety  and  good 
works,  saddened  her  life  and  made  her  for  a  while  morbid 
in  her  feelings.  In  the  midst  of  a  gay  and  brilliant  circle 
of  relations  and  friends,  the  child  was  moody,  sorrowful, 
and  averse  to  society. 

"  I  think  constantly  of  death,"  she  said  one  day  to  her 
governess,  "  and  ask  myself,  should  I  like  to  die  ?  should 
I  like  to  die  at  this  moment  ?" 

The  governess  encouraged  these  feelings,  and  dissuaded 

(417) 


418  MADAME   DE   MIRAMION. 

the  child  from  indulging  in  the  sports  proper  to  her  years, 
telling  her  of  eminent  saints  who  denied  themselves  all 
pleasures,  and  even  inflicted  pain  upon  themselves  by 
wearing  hair  shirts  and  girdles  of  iron.  She  saved  her 
money,  bought  secretly  a  thick  iron  chain,  and  wore  it 
around  her  waist  next  her  skin,  whenever  she  thought  she 
might  be  in  danger  of  becoming  too  much  interested  in 
pleasure.  This  was,  indeed,  a  common  practice  in  France 
two  hundred  years  ago.  Like  Florence  Nightingale,  she 
had,  even  in  her  childhood,  a  remarkable  love  of  nursing 
and  amusing  the  sick.  In  a  large  household,  such  as  the 
one  of  which  she  was  a  part,  there  are  always  some 
invalids,  and  it  was  her  delight,  during  her  play  hours,  to 
steal  away  to  their  bedrooms  to  entertain  them  by  read- 
ing, and  assist  in  taking  care  of  them.  She  would  even 
glide  from  the  ball-room  on  festive  occasions  to  visit  a 
sick  servant,  happier  to  mitigate  suffering  than  to  enjoy 
pleasure. 

When  she  was  fourteen  her  father  died,  leaving  her,  an 
orphan  and  an  heiress,  to  the  care  of  an  ambitious  aunt, 
whose  only  thought  concerning  her  was  to  secure  her  a 
brilliant  match  and  see  her  distinguished  in  society.  The 
young  lady  had  no  such  thoughts.  Grief-stricken  at  the 
loss  of  her  father,  and  weaned  from  fashionable  pleasure 
still  more  by  that  event,  she  would  have  entered  a  con- 
vent, if  she  had  not  felt  that  she  must  be  a  mother  to  her 
younger  brothers.  For  their  sakes  she  continued  in  the 
world.  Her  aunt,  to  dispel  what  she  deemed  the  gloomy 
thoughts  of  an  unformed  girl,  endeavored  to  distract  her 
mind  by  causing  her  to  be  presented  at  court,  by  taking 
her  often  to  the  theatre,  and  making  parties  for  her 
entertainment.  She  succeeded  for  a  time,  and  the  young 
lady  gave  herself  up  to  the  enjoyments  provided  for  her. 

She  had  grown,  meanwhile,  into  a  beauty.  Her  figure 
was  tall,  finely  formed,  and  exceedingly  graceful ;  and  her 


MADAME   DE   MIRAMION.  419 

face,  of  a  noble  loveliness,  with  a  complexion  of  dazzling 
purity  and  eyes  of  heavenly  blue,  was  set  off  by  a  great 
abundance  of  nut-brown  ringlets,  which  fell  down  about 
her  shoulders  and  neck.  But  the  great  charm  of  her 
countenance  was  an  expression  of  mingled  love  and 
benevolence,  such  as  usually,  though  not  always,  marks 
the  features  of  those  who  naturally  delight  in  doing  good. 
Among  the  young  ladies  of  her  time  there  was  none  more 
beautiful  than  she,  and  to  her  charms  of  face  and  form 
was  added  the  attraction  of  broad  estates  and  fair 
chateaux,  all  her  own. 

As  she  again  showed  symptoms  of  discontent  with  a 
life  of  pleasure,  even  recurring  occasionally  to  the  iron 
chain,  her  aunt  urged  her  to  signify  a  preference  for  one 
of  the  numerous  eligible  lovers  who  had  been  flitting 
round  her  ever  since  her  entrance  into  society.  One  of 
them,  it  seems,  had  attracted  her  regard.  It  was  M.  de 
Miramion,  who,  as  she  had  observed  at  church  and  else- 
where, was  particularly  attentive  to  his  mother,  which 
led  her  to  believe  he  was  a  worthy  young  man,  who 
would  sympathize  with  her  desire  to  hold  aloof  from 
the  frivolous  life  of  her  class.  He  was  rich,  and  of  noble 
rank,  well  looking,  and  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Mad- 
emoiselle de  Rubellc.  They  were  married  —  lie  twenty- 
seven,  sated  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world ;  she  sixteen, 
superior  to  them.     All  went  happily  for  a  few  months. 

"  I  gave  up  playing  cards,"  she  wrote,  "  and  going  to 
balls  and  theaters,  which  caused  great  surprise.  I  began 
a  regular  life  ;  I  won  over  my  husband,  and  persuaded  him 
to  live  like  a  good  Christian.  We  were  very  much  united, 
and  much  beloved  by  our  family,  with  whom  we  never 
had  any  disagreement,  except  from  their  efforts  to  make 
me  amuse  myself." 

This  harmonious  married  life  was  rudely  terminated, 
at  the  end  of  six  months,  by  the  death  of  the  husband, 
after   an   illness  of  a  week.     At  seventeen  Madame  do 


420  MADAME   DE   MIRAMION. 

Miramion  was  a  widow,  and  about  to  be  a  mother.  The 
blow  was  so  sudden  and  severe  that  nothing,  perhaps, 
would  have  availed  to  recall  her  to  an  interest  in  mun- 
dane affairs  but  the  birth  of  her  daughter.  When  she 
reappeared  in  the  great  world,  she  was  lovelier  than  ever 
in  her  face  and  person,  and  her  fortune  had  been  increased 
by  her  portion  of  her  husband's  estate.  She  was  a  very 
rich  and  beautiful  widow  of  eighteen,  with  only  the 
incumbrance  of  an  infant  in  arms.  Lovers  again  sur- 
rounded her,  but  she  encouraged  none  of  them;  and, 
indeed,  she  was  firmly  resolved  to  dedicate  her  life  to 
the  education  of  her  daughter.  Among  her  suitors  was 
a  roue  of  high  rank  and  wasted  fortune  —  a  widower  with 
three  daughters,  who  felt  how  advantageous  it  would  be 
to  add  the  lady's  estate  to  his  own.  Rejected  by  her,  he 
was  given  to  understand  by  a  friend  of  the  family  that 
she  really  liked  him,  and  was  only  prevented  from  marry- 
ing him  by  the  fear  of  offending  her  relations.  This  was 
false,  but  he  believed  it,  and  he  determined  to  carry  her 
off  in  the  style  of  an  old-fashioned  romance. 

On  a  certain  clay,  as  the  young  widow  and  her  mother- 
in-law  were  going  in  a  carriage  to  a  church  near  Paris, 
the  vehicle  was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  band  of  horse- 
men wearing  masks.  They  stopped  the  carriage  and 
opened  the  door.  The  young  lady  screamed  with  terror, 
which  the  horsemen  attributed  to  her  desire  to  keep  up 
appearances  before  her  mother-in-law,  and  therefore  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  their  purpose.  The  old  lady  and  one 
servant  were  left  in  the  road  to  make  their  way  home  as 
best  they  could,  while  the  carriage  containing  the  prize 
was  driven  rapidly  away,  surrounded  by  the  gentlemen  on 
horseback,  led  by  the  lover.  All  day  the  party  galloped 
on  until,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  they  reached  an 
ancient  castle,  with  Avail,  moat,  and  draw-bridges,  as  we 
find  them  in  the  novels  of  the  period.  Here  a  party  of 
two  hundred  of  the  abductor's  friends  were  in  waiting, 


MADAME   DE  MIRAMION.  421 

all  armed,  and  all  possessed  with  the  idea  that  the  abduc- 
tion was  undertaken  with  the  full  and  free  consent  of  the 
lady.  She  soon  undeceived  them.  She  utterly  refused  to 
enter  the  castle  or  leave  the  carriage.  At  length  one  of 
the  gentlemen,  a  knight  of  a  religious  order,  gave  her  his 
word  of  honor  that  if  she  would  alight  and  remain  in  the 
castle  for  the  night,  she  should  be  set  free  at  daybreak, 
and  conveyed  in  safety  to  her  friends.  She  then  con- 
sented to  accept  the  shelter  proffered  her.  She  passed 
the  night  in  solitude,  and  in  the  morning  was  replaced  in" 
her  carriage  and  set  free. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  law  at  that  time  in  France, 
and  such  the  power  of  the  nobility,  that  the  perpetrators 
of  this  outrage  escaped  punishment,  and  people  generally 
seem  to  have  thought  it  a  gallant  and  high-spirited  adven- 
ture, and  one  that  ought  to  have  been  rewarded  with 
success. 

From  this  time  to  the  end  of  her  life,  Madame  de 
Miramion  thought  no  more  of  lovers.  After  recovering 
from  the  serious  illness  caused  by  that  day  and  night  of 
terror,  she  entered  upon  the  way  of  life  which  has  caused 
her  name  to  be  remembered  with  honor  and  affection  for 
two  centuries.  She  became  austerely  religious.  She 
economized  her  large  income,  so  as  to  have  the  largest 
possible  sum  to  expend  in  works  and  institutions  of 
charity  —  discarding  all  the  gay  costumes  and  decora- 
tions of  her  sex,  and  wearing  always  a  plain,  peculiar 
dress,  like  that  of  a  religious  order.  She  personally 
superintended  her  affairs,  and  showed  a  particular  talent 
for  business,  making  the  most  of  all  her  sources  of 
income.  The  education  of  her  daughter  was  her  own 
work,  and  so  successful  was  she  with  her,  that  when  she 
was  married  at  fifteen,  she  was  regarded  and  treated  as 
a  mature  woman,  and  proved  worthy  of  the  confidence 
reposed  in  her. 


422  MADAME   DE   MIRAMION. 

Madame  dc  Miramion  was  the  first  lady  in  Europe  who 
ever  tried  systematically  to  reclaim  the  fallen  of  her  own 
sex.  She  hired  a  spacious  house  in  Paris,  into  which  she 
received  those  who  wished  to  reform,  and  there  she  main- 
tained and  taught  them,  and  for  such  as  persisted  in 
leading  an  honest  life,  she  procured  places  or  husbands. 
Other  ladies  of  rank  joined  her  the  King  assisted,  and 
the  establishment  continues  its  benevolent  work  to  the 
present  day.  She  also  founded  a  dispensary,  which  not 
only  supplied  the  poor  with  medicines,  but  instructed  a 
number  of  women  in  the  art  of  preparing  them,  and  in 
the  making  of  salves  and  plasters.  An  excellent  institu- 
tion founded  by  her  was  an  industrial  school  for  young 
girls,  where  they  were  taught  sewing,  household  arts, 
reading,  writing,  and  the  catechism,  all  the  pupils  being 
furnished  every  day  with  a  good  plain  dinner.  In  all 
these  establishments,  Madame  de  Miramion  labored  with 
her  own  hands  and  head,  setting  an  example  of  devotion 
and  skill  to  all  who  assisted  her.  Her  singular  aptitude 
for  managing  business,  and  her  knowledge  of  finance, 
stood  her  in  good  stead.  During  one  of  those  times  of 
famine  which  used  to  desolate  France,  she  hit  upon  the 
expedient  of  selling  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  certain 
quantity  of  soup  at  cost,  or  a  little  below  cost,  by  which 
many  thousands  were  carried  over  the  period  of  scarcity 
who  would  not  have  been  reached  by  charity. 
,  She  spent  her  life  in  labors  like  these,  devoting  herself 
and  all  she  possessed  to  the  mitigation  of  human  woe, 
reserving  literally  nothing  for  her  own  enjoyment.  It 
was  she  who  gave  that  impulse  to  works  of  charity  which 
has  rendered  Paris  the  city  of  Europe  most  abounding  in 
organizations  for  the  alleviation  of  poverty  and  pain. 
She  died  in  1694.  Recently  her  memoirs  have  been 
published  in  Paris  by  a  member  of  her  family,  and  the 
work,  I  hope,  will  find  its  way,  through  a  translation,  to 
readers  in  America. 


XXXV. 

PEG  O'NEAL. 

SIXTY  years  ago,  there  used  to  be  in  Washington  a 
spacious  tavern  in  the  old-fashioned  Southern  style, 
kept  by  William  O'Neal,  who  had  lived  in  the  neighbor- 
hood before  the  capital  was  built  on  the  shores  of  the 
Potomac.  This  landlord  had  a  pretty  daughter  named 
Peg,  who  was  the  pet  of  the  house  from  babyhood  to 
womanhood.  She  was  somewhat  free  and  easy  in  her 
manners,  as  girls  are  apt  to  be  who  grow  up  in  such  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  it  did  not  immediately  occur  to  her  that 
a  young  lady  of  twenty  cannot  behave  with  quite  the  free- 
dom of  a  girl  of  twelve,  without  exciting  ill-natured 
remark. 

Among  the  boarders  of  this  old  tavern,  whenever  he 
came  to  Washington,  was  General  Andrew  Jackson,  of 
Tennessee,  who  had  known  the  landlord  in  the  olden  time 
when  he  used  to  pass  through  that  region  on  his  way  from 
Nashville  to  his  seat  in  Congress  at  Philadelphia.  Mrs. 
Jackson,  also,  occasionally  accompanied  the  general  to 
the  seat  of  government,  where  she  became  warmly 
attached  both  to  Mrs.  O'Neal  and  to  her  daughter,  Peg. 
The  general  nowhere  in  Washington  felt  himself  so  much 
at  home  as  in  this  old  tavern.  No  one  could  make  him 
and  his  plain,  fat  little  wife  so  comfortable  as  Mrs.  O'Neal, 
and  no  one  could  fill  the  general's  corn-cob  pipe  more 
acceptably  than  the  lively  and  beautiful  Peg. 

In  due  time,  Peg  O'Neal,  as  she  was  universally  called, 
became  the  wife  of  a  purser  in  the  navy,  named  Timber- 

(423) 


424  PEG   0  NEAL. 

lake,  who,  while  on  duty  in  the  Mediterranean,  committed 
suicide,  in  consequence,  it  was  supposed,  of  a  drunken 
debauch  on  shore.  lie  left  his  widow  with  two  children 
and  little  fortune,  but  still  young  and  beautiful. 

Early  in  1829,  Senator  Eaton  of  Tennessee,  one  of 
General  Jackson's  most  intimate  friends  and  political 
allies  (an  old  boarder,  too,  at  the  O'Neal  tavern),  was 
disposed  to  marry  the  widow  ;  but,  before  doing  so,  con* 
suited  General  Jackson. 

"  Why,  yes,  Major,"  replied  the  general,  "  if  you  love 
the  woman,  and  she  will  have  you,  marry  her  by  all 
means." 

Major  Eaton  observed  that  the  young  widow  had  not 
escaped  reproach,  and  that  even  himself  was  supposed  to 
have  been  too  fond  of  her. 

41  Well,"  said  the  general,  "  your  marrying  her  will  dis- 
prove these  charges,  and  restore  Peg's  good  name." 

They  were  married  in  January,  1829 ;  and  a  few  weeks 
after,  General  Jackson  was  inaugurated  President  of  the 
United  States.  In  forming  his  cabinet,  the  President 
assigned  the  Department  of  War  to  his  old  friend  and 
neighbor,  Major  Eaton.  This  appointment  suddenly 
invested  his  wife  with  social  importance.  Extravagant 
stories  circulated  in  Washington  respecting  Mrs.  Eaton, 
and  the  ladies  made  up  their  minds  with  one  accord  that 
they  would  not  call  upon  her,  nor  in  any  way  recognize 
her  existence  as  the  wife  of  a  cabinet  minister. 

Meanwhile,  General  Jackson  remained  in  ignorance  of 
this  new  outbreak  of  scandal ;  but  before  he  had  been  a 
month  at  the  White  House  a  distinguished  clergyman  of 
Philadelphia,  Dr.  Ely,  wrote  him  a  long  letter  detailing 
the  slander  at  great  length,  and  calling  upon  him  to 
repudiate  Mrs.  Eaton.  General  Jackson  had  his  faults, 
but  he  never  did  a  mean  thing  nor  a  cowardly  thing  in 
his  life.     Tho  manner  in  which  he  set  about  defending  the 


PEG   O'NEAL.  425 

daughter  of  his  old  friend,  and  his  wife's  old  friend,  does 
him  as  much  honor  as  one  of  his  campaigns.  He  replied 
to  Dr.  Ely  in  a  letter  of  several  sheets,  in  which  he  exam- 
ined the  stories  with  something  of  the  coolness  of  an  old 
lawyer,  and  very  much  of  the  warmth  of  a  friend.  One 
of  the  charges  was  that  the  deceased  Timberlake  believed 
all  this  scandal,  and  cherished  deep  resentment  against 
Eaton.     The  general  met  this  in  a  triumphant  manner : 

"  How  can  such  a  tale  be  reconciled  with  the  following 
facts  ?  While  now  writing,  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  mantel- 
piece, where  I  behold  a  present  sent  me  by  Mr.  Timber- 
lake  of  a  Turkish  pipe,  about  three  weeks  before  his  death, 
and  presented  through  Mr.  Eaton,  whom  in  his  letter  he 
calls  his  friend." 

In  a  similar  way  he  refuted  the  other  accusations,  and 
he  kept  up  the  defence  in  letter  after  letter,  with  the  same 
energy  and  fire  that  he  had  displayed  in  hurling  the  Eng- 
lish troops  back  from  New  Orleans.  I  have  had  in  my 
hands  hundreds  of  pages  of  manuscript  in  General  Jack- 
son's writing,  or  caused  to  be  written  by  him,  all  relating 
to  this  affair,  and  all  produced  in  the  early  weeks  of  a 
new  administration.  He  brought  it  before  his  cabinet. 
He  summoned  the  chief  propagator  of  the  scandals ;  he 
moved  heaven  and  earth.  But,  for  once  in  his  life,  the 
general  was  completely  baffled ;  the  ladies  would  not  call 
upon  Mrs.  Eaton  ;  not  even  the  general's  niece,  Mrs. 
Donelson,  the  mistress  of  the  White  House. 

'•Any  thing  else,  uncle,"  she  said,  "I  will  do  for  you, 
but  I  will  not  call  upon  Mrs.  Eaton." 

The  general  was  so  indignant  that  he  advised  her  to  go 
back  to  Tennessee ;  and  she  went  back,  she  and  her 
husband,  private  secretary  to  the  President.  General 
Jackson's  will  was  strong,  but  he  discovered  on  this  occa- 
sion that  woman's  won't  was  stronger. 

In  the  midst  of  this  controversy,  when  the  feelings  of 


426  PEG    O'NEAL. 

the  general  were  exasperated  to  the  highest  pitch,  there 
arrived  in  Washington  Martin  Van  Buren  to  assume  the 
office  of  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Van  Buren,  beside 
being  one  of  the  most  good-natured  of  men,  and  a  worthy 
gentleman  in  all  respects  (to  whom  justice  has  not  been 
done),  had  no  ladies  in  his  family.  He  was  a  widower 
without  daughters.  He  was  also  the  friend  and  close  ally 
of  Major  Eaton.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in  Washington, 
he  called  upon  Mrs.  Eaton  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
treated  her  with  particular  respect  as  a  victim  of  calumny. 
He  did  a  great  deal  more  than  this.  He  used  the  whole 
influence  of  his  position  as  Secretary  of  State  to  set  her 
right  before  the  world. 

Among  the  diplomatic  corps,  it  chanced  that  the  British 
Minister  Mr.  Vaughan,  and  the  Russian  Minister  Baron 
Krudener  were  both  bachelors,  and  Mr.  Van  Buren  easily 
enlisted  them  in  the  cause.  Balls  were  given  by  them  at 
which  they  treated  the  lady  with  the  most  marked  atten- 
tion, and  contrived  various  expedients  to  get  the  other 
ladies  into  positions  where  they  would  be  compelled  to 
speak  civilly  to  her.  All  was  in  vain.  The  ladies  held 
their  ground  with  undaunted  pertinacity,  yielding  neither 
to  the  President's  wrath  nor  to  the  Secretary's  devices. 

The  nickname  given  to  Mrs.  Eaton  by  the  hostile  faction 
was  Bellona,  the  goddess  of  war.  A  letter-writer  of  the 
day  sent  to  one  of  the  New  York  papers  amusing  accounts 
of  the  gallant  efforts  of  the  three  old  'bachelors  to  "  keep 
Bellona  afloat "  in  the  society  of  the  capital. 

"  A  ball  and  supper,"  he  says,  "  were  got  up  by  his 
excellency,  the  British  Minister,  Mr.  Vaughan,  a  particu- 
lar friend  of  Mr.  Van  Buren.  After  various  stratagems 
to  keep  Bellona  afloat  during  the  evening,  in  which  almost 
every  cotillion  in  which  she  made  her  appearance  was 
instantly  dissolved  into  its  original  elements,  she  was  at 
length  conducted  by  the  British  Minister  to  the  head  of 


peg  o'neal.  427 

the  table,  where,  in  pursuance  of  that  instinctive  power 
of  inattention  to  whatever  it  seems  improper  to  notice 
the  ladies  seemed  not  to  know  that  she  was  at  the  table. 
This  ball  and  supper  were  followed  by  another  given  by  the 
Russian  Minister.  To  guard  against  the  repetition  of  the 
spontaneous  dissolution  of  the  cotillions  and  the  neglect 
of  the  ladies  at  supper  (where  you  must  observe,  none 
but  ladies  had  seats),  Mr.  Van  Buren  made  a  direct  and 
earnest  appeal  to  the  lady  of  the  Minister  from  Holland, 
Mrs.  Huygens,  whom  he  entreated  to  consent  to  be  intro- 
duced to  the  accomplished  and  lovely  Mrs.  Eaton. 

"  The  ball  scene  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Huygens,  with  uncom- 
mon dignity,  maintained  her  ground,  avoiding  the 
advances  of  Bcllona  and  her  associates  until  supper  was 
announced,  when  Mrs.  Huygens  was  informed  by  Baron 
Krudener  that  Mr.  Eaton  would  conduct  her  to  the  table. 
She  declined  and  remonstrated,  but  in  the  meantime  Mr. 
Eaton  advanced  to  offer  his  arm.  She  at  first  objected, 
but  to  relieve  him  from  his  embarrassment  walked  with 
him  to  the  table,  where  she  found  Mrs.  Eaton  seated  at 
the  head,  beside  an  empty  chair  for  herself.  Mrs. 
Huygens  had  no  alternative  but  to  become  an  instrument 
to  the  intrigue,  or  decline  taking  supper  ;  she  chose  the 
latter,  and  taking  hold  of  her  husband's  arm  withdrew 
from  the  room.  This  was  the  offence  for  which  General 
Jackson  afterwards  threatened  to  send  her  husband  home. 

"  The  next  scene  in  the  drama  was  a  grand  dinner,  given 
in  the  east  room  of  the  palace  where  it  was  arranged  that 
Mr.  Vaughan  was  to  conduct  Mrs.  Eaton  to  the  table  and 
place  her  at  the  side  of  the  President,  who  took  care  by 
his  marked  attention  to  admonish  all  present  (about 
eighty,  including  the  principal  officers  of  the  government 
and  their  ladies)  that  Mrs.  Eaton  was  one  of  his  favorites, 
and  that  he  expected  her  to  be  treated  as  such  in  all 
places.     Dinner  being  over  the   company  retired  to  the 

2ti 


428  PEG   O'NEAL. 

coffee  room  to  indulge  in  the  exhilarating  conversation 
which  wine  and  good  company  usually  excite.  But  all 
would  not  do.     Nothing  would  move  the  inflexible  ladies." 

Mr.  Van  Buren's  conduct  completely  won  the  affection 
of  General  Jackson,  of  which  during  the  summer  of  1830 
he  gave  a  most  extraordinary  proof.  Being  exceedingly 
sick,  and  not  expected  to  live  through  his  first  term,  he 
wrote  a  letter  strongly  recommending  Mr.  Van  Buren  as 
his  successor  to  the  presidency,  and  denouncing  his  rival, 
Calhoun,  as  signally  unfit  for  the  position.  The  letter 
was  confided  to  the  custody  of  Major  William  B.  Lewis, 
of  Nashville,  who  permitted  me  to  copy  it  in  1858  for  use 
in  my  Life  of  Jackson.  It  had  lain  in  a  green  box,  with 
other  private  documents  of  a  similar  nature,  for  twenty- 
eight  years ;  for,  as  the  general  in  part  recovered  his 
health,  it  was  never  used  for  the  purpose  intended.  Not 
the  less,  however,  did  General  Jackson,  by  a  long  series 
of  skillful  maneuvres,  secure  for  Mr.  Van  Buren  the 
succession  to  the  presidency. 

Finding  the  ladies  resolute,  and  being  himself  consti- 
tutionally unable  to  give  up,  General  Jackson  broke  up 
his  cabinet,  quarreled  with  Calhoun,  drove  him  into  nulli- 
fication, sent  Van  Buren  abroad  as  Minister  to  England, 
and,  in  short,  changed  the  course  of  events  in  the  United 
States  for  half  a  century ;  all  because  the  "Washington 
ladies  would  not  call  upon  Mrs.  Eaton.  Some  time  after 
the  close  of  the  Jackson  administration  Mrs.  Eaton  was 
again  left  a  widow;  but  this  time,  she  was  left  a  rich 
widow.  For  many  years  she  lived  in  Washington  in  very 
elegant  style,  in  a  house  all  alive  and  merry  with  children 
and  grandchildren.  In  her  old  age  she  was  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  marry  a  young  Italian  dancing-master,  who 
squandered  her  fortune,  and  brought  her  gray  hairs  in 
poverty  and  sorrow  to  the  grave.  She  died  in  Washing- 
ton a  few  years  ago,  aged  about  eighty-four  years. 


PEG   O'NEAL.  429 

"Was  General  Jackson  right  in  carrying  his  defence  of 
Mrs.  Eaton  to  this  extreme  ?  We  may  say  of  General 
Jackson  that  he  often  did  a  right  thing  in  a  wrong  way. 
If  he  did  not  succeed  in  making  the  ladies  call  upon  Mrs. 
Eaton,  he  gave  the  politics  of  the  country  a  turn  which, 
upon  the  whole,  was  beneficial. 


XXXVI. 

MRS.   L.   N.   MONMOUTH,   AND  HOW  SHE  LIVED    ON 
FORTY  DOLLARS  A  YEAR. 

HERE  is  a  true  talc  of  a  lady,  still  living  among  us, 
who  rescued  her  home,  her  life,  her  happiness,  and 
her  dignity  as  a  gentlewoman,  from  an  abyss  of  circum- 
stances that  threatened  to  engulf  them  all.  She  is  that 
Mrs.  L.  II.  Monmouth,  of  Canterbury,  New  Hampshire,  of 
whom  the  reader  may  have  casually  heard,  who  in  mid- 
dle age,  half  disabled,  and  an  invalid,  suddenly  lost  her 
fortune.  She  had  been  living  in  comfort  and  apparent 
security  in  the  receipt  of  a  modest,  but  sufficient  income, 
much  of  which  she  spent  in  charity.  She  awoke  one 
morning  and  found  herself  without  a  dollar  —  every- 
thing gone  but  the  old  homestead  that  sheltered  her. 

Too  ill  to  work,  afflicted  with  a  crippled  arm  and  one 
blind  eye,  and  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  her  misfor- 
tune, she  was  at  her  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do.  In 
this  emergency,  friends  were  not  backward  in  offering 
their  advice. 

"Take  boarders,"  said  one. 

"  Sell  your  place  and  buy  a  cottage,"  said  another. 

"Let  it,  and  hire  your  board,"  said  a  third. 

Others,  perhaps  as  well-meaning,  but  even  less  prac- 
tical, counseled  her  to  be  resigned,  to  rely  on  Providence, 
to  trust  and  pray.  A  few  added  the  vague  though  kindly 
phrase : 

"  When  you  want  anything,  be  sure  and  let  us  know." 

If  these  various  suggestions  were  of  any  assistance  to 
Mrs.  Monmouth  in  her  trouble,  it   was  only  in  showing 

(430) 


MRS.    L.    N.    MONMOUTH.  431 

her  that  she  must  think  and  act  for  herself.  Take  board- 
ers she  would  not,  on  account  of  her  health.  Her  house, 
if  she  sold  it,  would  not  bring  more  than  six  hundred 
dollars,  a  sum  too  small  for  the  purchase  of  a  cottage, 
and  which,  if  used  for  paying  board,  would  soon  have 
slipped  away  and  left  her  dependent  upon  charity. 

The  house  was  old,  dreary,  and  dilapidated.  "The 
roofs  leaked,"  she  says,  "the  windows  were  rickety, 
the  chimney  discharged  a  mournful  brickbat  in  every 
driving  storm."  But  it  was  a  shelter ;  it  was  dear  to 
her ;  and  she  resolved  to  keep  it.  The  land  upon  which 
it  stood  yielded  twenty  dollars  a  year  in  hay,  twelve  for 
pasture,  and  in  good  years  three  for  apples.  By  knitting 
and  making  artificial  flowers,  the  only  work  she  was  able 
to  do,  she  could  depend  upon  earning  fifteen  dollars  more. 
These  sums  together  equaled  an  income  of  exactly  fifty 
dollars,  ten  of  which  would  be  required  for  taxes.  Upon 
the  remaining  forty  she  determined  to  live,  and  did 
live. 

She  did  not  enter  upon  this  desperate  experiment  with- 
out serious  misgivings.  Her  first  thought  was  to  assign 
twenty  dollars  out  of  the  precious  forty  for  food,  but  this 
sum  she  soon  reduced  to  seventeen.  Better  starve  the 
body  than  the  mind,  she  thought,  and  the  three  dollars 
thus  saved  were  used  to  continue  her  subscription  to  her 
favorite  weekly  newspaper.  She  did  better  even  than 
this;  for  in  her  final  apportionment  of  expenditures  we 
find  ten  dollars  —  one-quarter  of  her  whole  income  exclu- 
sive of  taxes  —  set  apart  for  the  purchase  of  reading  mat- 
ter ;  the  only  other  item  in  the  list,  besides  food,  being 
thirteen  dollars  for  fuel. 

Not  a  single  penny  did  she  devote  to  dress,  and  the 
ingenious  shifts  by  which  she  succeeded  in  clothing  her- 
self respectably  and  sufficiently  upon  nothing  a  year,  for 
three  years,  are  worthy  of  study,  and  cannot  fail  to  excite 


432  MRS.    L.    N.    MONMOUTH. 

admiration.  Her  wardrobe,  at  the  time  of  her  loss  of 
fortune,  contained  but  one  suit  in  really  good  condition, 
and  but  one  outer  garment  of  any  kind,  a  waterproof 
cloak  much  worn  and  defaced.  But  she  possessed  a 
palm-figured  dressing-gown  lined  with  purple  flannel,  the 
outside  of  which  was  soiled  and  torn,  while  the  lining 
was  still  quite  good.  This  she  ripped  to  pieces,  and, 
after  washing  and  ironing  the  flannel,  made  a  new  gown 
from  it  which  she  trimmed  with  the  palm-leaf  figures  cut 
from  the  sound  parts  of  the  other  material,  and  placed  in 
three  bands  round  the  skirt  and  sleeves.  She  then 
raveled  out  an  old  red  undersleeve  and  edged  each 
band  with  a  narrow  fluting  made  from  the  worsted  thus 
obtained. 

"  I  took  genuine  comfort,"  she  tells  us,  "  in  planning 
and  piecing  it  out,  day  after  day,  with  half-mittens  on  my 
cold  hands,  sitting  close  to  a  cold  fire.  I  was  more  than 
a  week  about  it,  for  owing  to  shortness  of  firewood  my 
days  were  very  short,  and  my  lame  hand  was  decrepit 
and  painful.  I  recollected  that  when  I  had  made  this 
wrapper  out  of  an  abundance  of  nice  new  materials  I  had 
been  quite  impatient  at  having  to  sew  on  it  for  two  days, 
and  called  in  help  to  finish  it  off.  People  who  saw  it 
after  it  was  remodeled  said  it  was  handsomer  than  when 
it  wa3  new,  and  it  is  certain  I  thought  a  good  deal  more 
of  it." 

Even  a  Yankee  woman  might  well  be  proud  of  such  a 
triumph ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  the  greatest  which  this 
undaunted  lady  achieved.  She  had  now  two  dresses,  but 
an  outside  garment  was  necessary,  since  the  waterproof 
was  quite  unpresentable.  In  an  outer  room  of  the  house 
hung  an  old,  rusty  overcoat  of  her  father.  It  had  been 
there  undisturbed  for  fifteen  years,  in  company  with  a 
pair  of  big  boots,  partly  through  an  affectionate  liking  of 
hers  to  see   it  around,  partly  as  a  wholesome  suggestion 


MRS.    L.    N.    MONMOUTH.  433 

to  tramps  of  a  possible  masculine  protector.  It  was 
destined  now  to  resume  a  more  active  career  of  useful- 
ness. With  great  difficulty  Mrs.  Monmouth  lifted  it  from 
its  peg  and  dragged  it  to  her  room  to  examine  at  her 
ease. 

It  proved  a  mine  of  wealth  to  her.  The  lining  alone, 
of  the  finest  and  glossiest  black  lasting,  quilted  in  dia- 
monds, was  a  great  treasure ;  then,  when  this  had  been 
ripped  away,  the  reverse  side  of  the  coat  itself  was 
revealed  to  be  dark  gray,  clean,  whole,  and  as  good  as 
new. 

With  this  gray  cloth  cut  in  strips,  the  old  waterproof 
newly  washed,  pressed,  and  mended,  was  so  trimmed  and 
pieced  as  to  make  a  very  respectable  garment  for  winter 
service.  Better  still,  the  same  stuff — a  kind  of  fulled 
cloth — was  so  thick,  warm,  and  pliable  that  Mrs.  Mon- 
mouth, after  having  ripped  up  an  old  shoe  for  a  pattern, 
was  enabled  to  make  herself  an  excellent  pair  of  shoes 
out  of  it,  comfortable,  neatly  fitting,  and  not  unsightly. 

"  These  home  made  shoes,"  she  says  with  pardonable 
pride,  "  shut  off  the  shoe  bill  at  the  store,  and  gave  me 
Harper  s  Magazine." 

But  let  us  not  forget  the  quilted  lining.  From  this, 
long,  shining,  and  almost  exactly  of  the  fashionable 
shape,  a  cloak  was  made  which,  when  lined  and  trimmed 
with  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  cashmere,  proved  so  hand- 
some and  at  a  little  distance  so  like  satin,  that  its  skillful 
and  modest  owner  dared  not  wear  it  much  abroad,  for 
fear  of  being  accused  of  wild  extravagance.  It  was 
reserved  to  put  on  in  the  house  on  very  cold  days,  and  on 
Thanksgivings,  "  to  give  thanks  in." 

From  some  plaid  black  and  white  flannel  which  had 
lined  the  waterproof  before  its  renovation,  another  cloak 
was  made,  less  elegant,  but  still,  when  decorated  with 
pressed  gros-grain  ribbon,  and  a  fluting  and  ball-fringe 


434  MRS.    L.    N.    MONMOUTH. 

made  from  a  pair  of  raveled  stockings,  it  was  an  article 
of  apparel  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  This  served  for 
use  in  spring  and  fall. 

The  problem  of  shoes  had  been  mainly  solved  by  the 
discovery  of  the  old  overcoat,  although,  to  spare  any 
» unnecessary  use  of  objects  so  difficult  to  manufacture,  the 
soles  of  old  rubbers,  lined  with  flannel  and  laced  sandal- 
wise  upon  the  feet,  often  answered  for  household  wear. 
The  problem  of  stockings  remained.  It  was  finally  solved 
by  means  of  a  knitted  shawl  and  some  ancient  homespun 
underclothes,  all  of  which  had  been  long  since  cast  aside. 
They  were  a  mass  of  ends  and  ravelings,  but  the  yarn, 
though  torn  and  in  a  few  places  moth-eaten,  was  other- 
wise quite  sound  and  very  strong.  This  was  carefully 
washed,  wound  into  skeins,  colored,  rinsed,  and  rewound 
into  balls  for  knitting — a  labor  of  weeks.  When  it  was 
completed  Mrs.  Monmouth  found  herself  supplied  with 
sufficient  material  to  afford  stockings  for  a  lifetime. 

Her  summer  clothing  gave  less  trouble  than  the  heavier 
garments  required  for  winter.  She  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  an  old  chocolate  and  white  print  gown  of  her 
mother's,  which  merely  demanded  altering  over.  A 
second  dress — a  very  pretty  one — was  made  from  a  bed- 
ticking,  and  trimmed  with  blue  drilling  taken  from  a  pair 
of  overalls  left  on  the  place  by  some  careless  workman, 
years  before.  A  pair  of  checkered  table-cloths  were  held 
in  reserve  to  be  used  should  occasion  require.  Linen 
articles  were  supplied  from  fifteen  mottoes,  worked  upon 
muslin  and  cotton  flannel,  that  the  house  contained. 
These  were  soaked  and  boiled  clean  before  being  used. 
Hats  and  bonnets  were  deemed  superfluous.  When,  how- 
ever, it  was  necessary  to  pass  the  limits  of  the  little  farm 
and  appear  in  public,  a  battered  straw  ruin  from  the  attic 
fulfilled  the  demands  of  propriety,  its  forlorn  condition 
being  concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  a  barSge  veil. 


MRS.   L.    N.    MONMOUTH.  435 

In  the  matter  of  food  Mrs.  Monmouth  relied  much  upon 
corn  meal.  Four  and  a  half  cents  would  support  her 
very  well  for  a  day  and  a  half;  one  cent  for  a  quarter  of 
a  pound  of  meal,  one  and  a  half  for  a  quarter  of  a  pound 
of  dried  beans,  and  two  for  a  bit  of  salt  pork.  This  was 
her  customary  bill  of  fare  for  three  days  out  of  the  seven. 
Rice  she  made  great  use  of,  and  a  pound  of  oatmeal 
cooked  on  Monday  served  as  a  dessert  throughout  the 
week,  a  cup  of  molasses  taking  the  place  of  sauce. 
Occasionally,  when  they  were  at  their  cheapest,  she 
bought  several  eggs ;  at  rare  intervals  she  even  indulged 
herself  with  a  beet,  a  turnip,  or  a  few  cents  worth  of 
butcher's  scraps.  Once  a  mouth  she  luxuriated  in  baking 
gingerbread  or  frying  doughnuts,  one  at  a  time,  over  her 
little  oil  stove. 

"  I  always  enjoyed  the  frying  of  doughnuts,"  she  says, 
"  and  looked  forward  to  it  with  a  zest  of  anticipation  ; 
they  generally  came  up  plump  and  round,  and  quite  filled 
the  little  cup  of  boiling  lard.  I  picked  them  out  with  a 
fork  and  invariably  ate  the  first  while  the  second  was 
cooking.  After  that  I  let  them  congregate  upon  a  plate, 
and  watched  their  numbers  increase  to  five,  six,  seven — 
never  more  than  that." 

Now  and  then  she  was  haunted  by  visions  of  the  savory 
cakes  and  pies  baking  in  her  neighbors'  ovens  ;  but  when- 
ever the  contrast  became  too  strong  between  these  fancied 
delicacies  and  the  lonely  pot  of  oatmeal  in  her  own 
cupboard,  she  hastened  to  forget  her  deprivations  in  a 
book. 

Her  usual  provision  of  winter  fuel  was  three  cords  of 
wood,  which  she  sawed  herself,  despite  her  lame  arm, 
"  worrying  off,"  as  she  expresses  it,  "  a  few  sticks  each 
day."  During  the  milder  seasons  of  the  year  she  burned 
only  such  dried  moss,  branches,  and  pine  cones  as  she 
could  gather  in  the  neighborhood.     For  almost  all  cooking 


436  MRS.    L.   N.    MONMOUTH. 

she  used  an  oil  stove.  Her  lame  arm,  which  was  easily 
affected  by  the  weather,  became  almost  useless  during 
periods  of  intense  cold.  At  these  times,  feeling  that 
when  nothing  could  be  earned  something  might  at  least 
be  saved,  she  would  spare  her  fuel  by  creeping  into  bed 
with  a  book  and  a  hot  freestone,  and  spend  the  day 
beneath  the  clothes. 

She  had  no  money  to  spare  for  incidental  expenses. 
"When  the  roof  of  her  shed  let  in  too  much  rain  upon  the 
wood-pile,  the  wood-pile  was  moved  to  a  drier  spot.  When 
a  front  window  was  ruined  by  some  reckless  sportsman 
putting  thirty  shot  holes  through  it,  the  blinds  were  closed 
and  it  was  left  unmenclcd.  When  the  plaster  dropped 
down  into  the  rooms  its  place  was  supplied  by  patches  of 
cloth  pasted  over  the  bare  brown  laths.  Yet,  while  her 
poverty  reduced  her  to  such  makeshifts  as  these,  while 
she  denied  herself  even  the  lotion  which  would  alleviate 
the  condition  of  her  crippled  arm,  Mrs.  Monmouth  always 
managed  to  keep  a  dollar  or  two  on  hand  for  charitable 
purposes,  and  never  failed  to  manufacture  some  simple 
Christmas  presents  for  a  few  children  and  faithful  friends 
who  were  accustomed  to  bring  her  occasionally  during  the 
year  what  she  gratefully  terms  "baskets  of  benefaction.'* 

She  succeeded,  moreover,  in  finding  time  and  strength 
to  render  pleasing  and  attractive  the  old  home  which  she 
could  not  afford  to  repair,  and  which  became,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  a  veritable  museum  of  ingenious 
and  beautiful  handiwork.  At  last  the  people  around  her 
became  interested ;  the  place  began  to  be  talked  of,  and 
its  fame  spread  into  the  neighboring  towns.  Visitors 
arrived,  few  at  first,  and  later  in  such  numbers  that  Mrs. 
Monmouth  was  obliged  to  charge  an  admittance  fee,  and 
afterwards  to  issue  a  circular  containing  prices  and 
regulations. 

"  Children,  seven  cents ;  Ladies,  ten ;  Gentlemen,  fif- 


MRS.   L.    N.    MONMOUTH.  437 

teen  ; "  says  this  interesting  little  document,  adding  that 
'•  Xo  gentlemen  unaccompanied  by  ladies  will  be  admitted, 
and  strangers  must  bring  an  introduction." 

It  also  states,  very  prudently,  that  "Ladies  are 
requested  not  to  come  with  horses  they  cannot  manage. 
Such  as  wish  to  remain  most  of  the  day  can  do  so  by 
bringing  lunch  and  paying  twenty-five  cents." 

Besides  her  other  labors,  Mrs.  Monmouth  has  written 
a  small  pamphlet  relating  her  experiences,  which  she 
entitles,  "  Living  on  Half  a  Dime  a  Pay." 

Let  no  one  undervalue  these  trifling  details,  for  they 
convey  to  this  extravagant  age  a  lesson  of  which  it 
stands  in  need.  Some  of  the  brightest  spirits  of  our  time 
have  passed  or  arc  passing  their  lives  in  miserable  bond- 
age, solely  through  disregard  of  Mrs.  Monmouth's  princi- 
ple of  preserving  her  independence  by  living  within  her 
means.  An  English  poet  of  great  celebrity  has  a  costly 
mansion  unfinished,  which  has  for  years  made  him  a 
bond-slave  to  publishers  and  architects. 

The  French  novelist,  Balzac,  as  we  see  by  his  Letters, 
spent  his  life  in  a  mere  struggle  to  pay  off  enormous 
debts  incurred  in  building,  improving,  and  furnishing. 
He  was  a  man  of  almost  uncqualed  strength  of  constitu- 
tion, one  who  could  work  sixteen  hours  a  day,  for  months 
at  a  time,  without  obvious  exhaustion ;  but  it  killed  him 
at  last.  The  disease  of  which  he  died  was  called  con- 
sumption, but  its  correct  name  was  House  and  Grounds  ; 
and  he  seemed  quite  helpless  in  the  clutch  of  this  dread 
malady.  When  he  began  to  write  he  used  to  receive  for 
a  small  volume  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  and  he 
endeavored  to  write  one  of  these  every  month.  In  the 
course  of  a  year  or  two  his  price  rose  to  four  hundred 
dollars  for  a  volume,  which  would  have  yielded  him  a 
tolerable  income  without  excessive  labor.  But  now, 
presuming  upon  his  strength  and  ability,  he  began  to  get 


438  MRS.   L.    N.    MONMOUTH. 

into  debt,  and,  in  six  years,  he  owed  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars.  From  that  time  to  the  end  of  his  life,  he  was 
possessed  of  two  raging  manias — a  mania  to  get  into 
debt,  and  a  mania  to  work  out  of  debt.  But  it  is  so  easy 
to  spend !  He  sometimes  received  five  thousand  dollars 
a  month  for  literary  labor,  and  sold  one  story  to  a  news- 
paper for  four  thousand  dollars.  Rising  from  his  bed  at 
midnight,  he  kept  at  work  all  the  rest  of  the  night,  and 
most  of  the  next  day,  till  five  in  the  afternoon  ;  but  his 
debts  grew  apace  and  speedily  reached  a  total  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

Then,  of  course,  he  must  needs  buy  a  house  and  set 
about  improving  its  garden.  He  appears  not  to  have 
known  what  was  the  matter.  He  wondered  that  he 
should  be  so  pestered  with  debts.  "  Why  am  1  in  debt?" 
he  asks.  He  died  insolvent,  after  making  millions  by  his 
pen,  and  at  the  very  moment  almost  of  his  death  he  was 
buying  an  antique  costume  for  thirty  thousand  francs, 
and  concluding  bargains  for  pictures  and  ancient  needle- 
work. 

There  is  an  interesting  passage  in  the  memoirs  of 
George  Ticknor,  where  he  speaks  of  his  two  visits  to 
Abbotsford,  the  big  house  that  brought  low  the  magnifi- 
cent head  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  When  Mr.  Ticknor 
first  visited  the  author  of  "Marmion,"  his  abode  was  a 
modest,  comfortable  establishment,  quite  sufficient  for  a 
reasonable  family  of  liberal  income.  When  he  paid  his 
second  visit,  Sir  Walter  having  in  the  interval  made  and 
lost  a  great  fortune,  Abbotsford  had  grown  into  a  costly, 
extensive,  nondescript,  preposterous  mansion.  The 
moment  his  eyes  fell  upon  it  he  understood  Sir  Walter's 
ruin.  That  toy  house  was  his  ruin.  The  American 
visitor  discovered  among  its  grandeurs  the  apartment  he 
had  occupied  twenty  years  before,  reduced  in  rank  and 
office,  but  still  recognizable,  and  he  could  not  but  lament 


MRS.   L.   N.   MONMOUTH.  439 

the  fatal  mania  which  had  lured  so  great  a  man  to  spoil  a 
modest  country  house  by  incrusting  it  over  with  an  eccen- 
~tric,  tawdry  palace. 

A  leaf  from  Mrs.  Monmouth's  book  might  have  saved 
these  men  from  misery  and  despair.  She  made  the  most 
of  small  means,  and  they  made  the  least  of  large.  In  the 
midst  of  poverty  she  preserved  her  independence  and  her 
dignity ;  with  superabundant  means,  they  threw  both 
away. 


XXXVII. 

THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  COMMONLY  CALLED 
JOAN   OF  ARC. 

EOME  refuses  to  canonize  the  Maid  of  Orleans.    At  the 
)    beginning  of  the  year  1870,  Monseigneur  Dupan- 
loup,  bishop  of  the  diocese  in  which  she  began  her  career 

in  arms,  went  to  Rome,  and  asked,  on  behalf  of  his 
Catholic  countrymen,  that  the  maiden  who,  four  hundred 
and  fifty-three  years  ago.  assisted  to  restore  the  inde- 
pendence of  France,  might  be  added  to  the  roll  of  the 
saints.  The  power  that  sent  the  golden  rose  unasked  to 
Isabella  of  Spain  refused  this  costless  favor  to  the  urgent 
request  of  Frenchmen. 

It  lnul  no  other  choice.  The  Historical  Society  of 
France  has  given  to  the  reading  world  the  means  of  know- 
ing what  power  it  was  that  consigned  her  to  the  fire.  It 
was  no  other  than  the  Church  which  so  recently  was 
asked  to  canonize  her.  After  a  live  months'  trial,  in 
which  sixty  ecclesiastics,  and  none  but  ecclesiastics,  par- 
ticipated, she  was  condemned  as  an  "  excommunicated 
heretic,  a  liar,  a  seducer,  pernicious,  presumptuous,  credu- 
lous, rash,  superstitious,  a  pretender  to  divination,  blas- 
phemous toward  God,  toward  the  saints  male  and  the 
saints  female,  contemptuous  of  God  even  in  His  sacra- 
ments, distorter  of  the  Divine  law,  of  holy  doctrine,  of 
ecclesiastical  sanctions,  seditious,  cruel,  apostate,  schis- 
matic." It  were  much,  even  after  the  lapse  of  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years,  to  forgive  such  sins  as  these. 

The  proceedings  of  this  long  trial  were  recorded  from 

(440) 


r  - 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC.  441 

day  to  day  with  a  minuteness  which  only  a  short-hand 
report  could  have  surpassed,  and  when  the  last  scene  was 
over,  the  record  was  translated  into  official  Latin  by 
members  of  the  University  of  Paris.  Five  copies  of  this 
translation  were  made,  in  the  most  beautiful  writing  of 
the  period  —  one  for  Henry  VI,  King  of  England,  one 
fur  the  Pope,  one  for  the  English  cardinal,  uncle  to  Henry 
VI,  and  one  for  each  of  the  two  presiding  ecclesiastics. 
Three  of  these  manuscript  copies  exist  to-day  in  Paris, 
as  well  as  a  considerable  portion  of  the  original  draft  — 
le  frtumitif,  as  the  French  lawyers  term  it  —  written  in 
the  French  of  1430.  The  very  copy  designed  for  the  boy 
King  of  England,  the  ill-starred  child  of  Henry  V  and 
Catherine  of  France,  has  remained  at  Paris,  where  its 
presence  attests  the  reality  of  the  Maid's  exploits,  and 
recalls  her  prophetic  words,  uttered  often  in  the  hearing 
of  the  English  nobles :  "  You  will  not  hold  the  kingdom 
of  France.  In  seven  years  you  will  be  gone."  This 
report,  edited  with  care  and  learning  by  M.  Jules  Qui- 
cherat,  has  been  printed  verbatim  in  five  volumes  octavo, 
and  these  have  been  since  reduced  to  two  volumes  by  the 
omission  of  repetitions,  under  the  zealous  editorship  of 
Mr.  E.  Reilly,  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  Rouen,  where  the 
trial  took  place.  The  record  is  therefore  ineffaceable. 
The  Church  could  not  canonize  in  187G  a  personage  whom 
the  Church  is  known  to  have  cast  beyond  her  pale  in  1430 
to  be  mercifully  burned  alive.  She  was  abandoned  to 
"the  secular  arm,"  which  was  besought  to  act  toward 
her  with  sweetness  —  avec  douceur.  In  thirty  minutes 
the  secular  arm  bound  her  to  a  stake  in  the  market' 
place  of  Rouen,  and  sweetly  wreathed  about  her  virgin 
form  a  shroud  of  flame. 

France  no  longer  possesses  Domremy,  tiie  remote  and 
obscure  hamlet  of  Lorraine  where  the  Maid  first  saw  the 
light.     The  house  in  which  she  was  born,  the  little  church 


442  THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 

of  St.  Rcmi  in  which  she  knelt,  and  the  church-yard 
Avail  against  which  her  abode  was  built,  are  all  standing. 
The  village  is  commonly  called  Domremy-la-Pucelle,  in 
remembrance  of  her,  and  every  object  in  the  neighborhood 
speaks  of  her:  the  river  Mouse  gliding  past,  the  hill  of 
the  fairies  upon  which  her  companions  danced,  and  where 
they  laughed  at  her  for  liking  better  to  go  to  church,  the 
fountain  where  the  sick  were  healed  by  miracle,  and  the 
meadows  in  which  she  sat  spinning  while  she  watched  the 
village  herd  on  the  days  when  it  was  her  father's  turn  to 
have  it  in  charge.  These  remain  little  changed ;  but 
they  are  now  part  of  the  German  Empire  —  part  of  the 
price  France  has  had  in  our  time  to  pay  for  Louis  XIV 
and  the  Bonapartes.  To  such  a  people  as  the  French  it  is 
not  a  thing  of  trifling  import  that  France  does  not  own 
the  birthplace  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

Nor  was  Lorraine  a  French  possession  when  Jeanne 
Dare  kept  the  village  herd  on  the  banks  of  the  Meuse 
in  1425.  For  a  long  period  it  had  been  a  border-land 
between  France  and  the  empire,  during  which  the  inhabit- 
ants of  that  sequestered  nook  had  been  as  passionately 
French  in  their  feelings  as  the  people  of  Eastern  Tennes- 
see were  warm  for  the  Union  in  18G3.  In  a  border-land 
there  is  no  neutrality.  And  during  the  childhood  of  this 
maiden,  France  had  fallen  under  the  dominion  of  the 
English.  She  was  three  or  four  years  of  age  when  Henry 
V  won  the  battle  of  Agincourt,  and  by  the  time  she  was 
ten,  France  as  an  independent  power  had  ceased  to  be. 
It  was  not  merely  that  Harry  V  and  his  bowmen  had 
overthrown  in  battle  the  French  armies,  but,  apart  from 
this  conquest  of  the  country,  there  were  grounds  for  the 
claim  of  his  son  to  the  French  throne  which  even  a  patri- 
otic and  conscientious  Frenchman  might  have  admitted. 
The  French  King  himself ,  Charles  VII,  indolently  doubted 
the  right  of  his  line  to  the  throne,  and  doubted  also  his 
own  legitimacy. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  443 

What  could  a  Frenchman  think  of  the  rival  claimants 
of  1428  ?  Paris  was  in  the  power  of  the  English,  and 
apparently  content  to  be ;  two-thirds  of  France  were 
strongly  held  by  English  troops,  and  the  remainder  was 
not  safe  from  incursion  for  a  day;  the  uncles  of  the 
English  King,  who  ruled  France  in  his  name,  were  men 
of  energy  and  force,  capable  of  holding  what  their  valiant 
brother  had  won;  and  as  to  the  King,  Henry  VI,  boy  as 
he  "was,  he  was  a  French  Prince  as  well  as  English,  the 
son  of  English  Harry  and  the  Princess  Catherine,  whose 
pretty  courting  scenes  so  agreeably  close  Shakspeare's 
play.  "  Shall  not  thou  and  1,"  says  blunt  King  Hal  to 
the  Princess,  who  happily  understood  him  not,  "  com- 
pound a  boy,  half  French,  half  English,  that  shall  go  to 
Constantinople,  and  take  the  Turk  by  the  beard  ? "  The 
boy  had  been  compounded;  he  was  now  called  Henry 
VI,  of  France  and  England  King;  and  many  thousand 
Frenchmen  owned  him  sovereign  in  their  hearts. 

The  person  whom  we  commonly  style  Joan  of  Arc, 
and  the  French  Jeanne  d'Arc,  would  have  written  her 
name,  if  she  had  ever  known  how  to  write,  Jehannette 
Rommee.  "  My  mother,"  she  said,  upon  her  trial,  "  was 
named  Rommde,  and  in  my  country  girls  bear  the  surname 
of  their  mothers."  Her  father  was  a  farm  laborer  named 
Jacques  Dare,  originally  D'Arc —  James  of  the  Bow,  or,** 
as  we  might  say,  if  he  had  been  an  English  peasant, 
James  Bowman.  A  learned  descendant  of  the  family  — 
for  she  had  several  brothers  and  sisters  —  who  has  written 
a  book  on  the  Maid,  writes  her  name  and  his  own  Dare; 
and  although  there  is  an  inclination  in  France  to  give  her 
still  the  aristocratic  apostrophe,  it  is  probable  that  history 
will  now  accept  plain  Jeanne  Dare  as  the  name  nearest 
the  truth.  Whether  her  father  was  a  free  laborer  or  a 
serf  was  not  known  even  to  the  persons  who  drew  up  her 
patent  of  nobility  in  1428,  and  is  still    uncertain.     We 

27 


444:  THE    TRIAL    OF    JEANNE    DARC. 

know,  however,  that  lie  was  an  agricultural  laborer,  who 
"went  to  the  plow,"  which  plow  this  daughter  may  have 
assisted  to  draw.  As  I  propose,  however,  to  give  those 
portions  of  her  testimony  in  which  she  relates  her  own 
story,  I  will  merely  recall  a  few  of  the  circumstances  of 
her  lot  needful  to  the  elucidation  of  her  words.  These 
were  mostly  gathered  from  the  lips  of  her  companions, 
years  after  her  death,  when  the  mother  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  from  whom  she  probably  derived  her  cast  of 
character,  cried  to  France,  and  cried  not  in  vain,  to  do 
justice  to  her  daughter's  memory. 

The  Dare  cottage  was  so  near  the  village  church  that  a 
religious  girl  residing  in  it  would  always  feel  herself  in 
the  shadow  of  the  altar.  She  could  look  from  her  home 
into  the  church's  open  door.  She  was  familiar  with  the 
sexton  from  her  childhood,  and  used  to  remind  him  of 
his  duty  when  he  forgot  to  ring  the  bell  for  prayers,  even 
bribing  him  to  be  punctual  by  gifts  of  wool  and  yarn.  Of 
knowledge  derived  from  books  she  possessed  none,  unless 
we  except  her  Paternoster,  her  creed,  and  a  few  short 
prayers  and  invocations,  she  not  differing  in  this  par- 
ticular from  nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  the  kingdom. 
Probably  not  one  of  her  race  had  ever  been  able  to  read. 
She  was,  nevertheless,  a  person  of  native  superiority  of 
mind  and  character,  capable  of  public  spirit,  yearning  for 
the  deliverance  of  her  country,  fervid,  energetic,  of  dex- 
terous hand,  well  skilled  in  all  the  arts  and  industries 
appertaining  to  her  lot,  and  proud  to  excel  in  them.  It 
is  not  true  that  she  was  an  inn  servant,  who  rode  the 
horses  to  water,  and  saddled  them  for  travelers.  She 
lived  honorably  in  her  father's  house,  earning  her  share 
of  the  family's  subsistence  by  honest  toil,  spinning,  weav- 
ing, bread-making,  gardening,  and  field-work,  "  taking 
her  spinning-wheel  with  her  to  the  fields  when  it  was  her 
father's  turn  to  tend  the  village  herd"  —  a  faithful  helper 


THE   TRIAL    OF   JEANNE    DARC.  445 

to  her  parents.  She  was  a  well-grown  girl,  robust,  strong, 
and  vigorous.  Of  the  numerous  portraits  known  to  have 
been  taken  of  her  during  the  two  years  of  her  glory,  I 
know  not  if  any  one  has  been  preserved.  Probably  not ; 
else  why  do  not  Martin,  Guizot,  and  the  other  French 
historians  give  some  authority  for  the  radiant  beauty  of  the 
pictures  they  present  to  us  of  the  Maid  ?  Beautiful  she 
probably  was.  Pitiful  and  devout  we  know  she  was  from 
the  testimony  of  all  her  village,  as  well  as  from  that  of 
her  pastors,  who  heard  her  in  confession,  and  witnessed 
her  life  from  day  to  day  and  from  hour  to  hour.  Wo 
know,  also,  that  her  heart  was  wrung  with  sorrow  for  her 
desolated  country,  and  her  careless,  self-indulgent  King, 
whom  she  ignorantly  thought  a  peerless  hero  and  a 
Christian  knight  without  reproach. 

.Such  traits  as  these,  subdued  by  Catholic  habits,  impart 
to  youth  and  beauty,  untutored  though  it  be,  an  assured 
serenity  of  demeanor  which  impresses  and  charms.  By 
Catholic  habits  I  mean  such  as  the  habit  of  remaining 
still  and  silent  in  one  attitude  for  a  long  time,  the  habit 
of  walking  at  a  measured  pace  with  the  hands  in  a  pre- 
scribed position,  the  habit  of  pausing  several  times  a  day 
and  collecting  the  soul  in  meditation  on  themes  remote 
from  the  day's  toil  and  trouble.  The  effect  of  these 
habits  upon  the  nervous  system,  and  consequently  upon 
the  demeanor,  is  such  as  to  give  convent  schools  an 
obvious  advantage,  which  keeps  them  full  of  pupils  all 
over  the  world.  Granting  that  the  effect  is  chiefly  phys- 
ical, and  that  it  is  often  overvalued,  we  must  still  admit 
that  it  often  confers  personal  power  and  personal  charm. 

The  story  of  this  village  maiden  is  incomprehensi- 
ble, unless  we  allow  her  the  might  and  majesty  of 
such  a  presence  as  we  still  see  in  pure-minded  and 
nobly  purposed  women.  Many  of  those  who  executed 
her  will  at   critical   moments   could    only  explain   their 


446 


THE   TxlIAL   OP   JEANNE   DARC. 


obedience  by  dwelling  upon  the  power  of  her  demeanor, 
which  was  at  once  impassioned  and  serene.  Rude  men- 
at-arms  could  not  swear  in  her  presence,  and  the 
nobles  of  a  dissolute  court  yielded  to  the  force  of  her 
resolve.  They  told  her  that  her  road  to  the  king  was 
infested  with  enemies.  "  I  do  not  fear  them,"  replied 
this  peasant  girl,  not  yet  eighteen.  "  If  there  are  enemies 
upon  my  road,  God  is  there  also,  and  He  will  know  how 
to  prepare  my  way  to  the  Lord  Dauphin.  I  was  created 
and jnd  into  the  world  for  that/"  The  Comte  de  Dunois 
in  his  old  age,  twenty-six  years  after  the  campaigns  in 
which  he  had  fought  by  her  side,  bore  testimony  to  the 
commanding  power  of  her  words.  She  said  one  day  to 
the  king,  in  the  hearing  of  Dunois :  "  When  I  am 
annoyed  because  my  message  from  God  is  not  more 
regarded,  I  go  apart  and  pray  to  God ;  I  lay  my  com- 
plaint before  Him ;  and  when  my  prayer  is  finished  I 
hear  a  Voice  which  cries  to  me,  '  Child  of  God,  go,  go ;  I 
will  be  your  helper  ;  go  ! '  And  when  I  hear  that  Voice 
I  am  glad  exceedingly,  and  I  wish  to  hear  it  always." 
After  repeating  these  sentences  of  the  Maid,  old  Dunois 
would  add,  "  And  what  was  more  wondrous  still,  while 
she  uttered  these  words  her  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven 
in  a  marvelous  transport."  This  Maid,  I  repeat,  is  inex- 
plicable, unless  we  think  of  her  as  one  of  those  gifted 
persons  who  have  natural  power  to  sway  and  to  impress. 
She  spoke  to  the  king  of  a  Voice  that  cheered  and 
guided  her.  Usually  she  used  the  plural,  mes  voix.  These 
Voices  play  the  decisive  part  both  in  her  life  and  death, 
and  they  furnish  also  the  chief  difficulty  of  her  history. 
Most  of  us  moderns  have  ceased  to  be  able  to  believe  in 
audible  or  visible  supernatural  guidance  such  as  she 
claimed  to  enjoy,  and  we  at  once  suspect  imposture  in 
the  person  who  pretends  to  it.  She  shall  tell  her  own 
story,  and  the  reader  must  judge  it  according  to  the  light 


THE    TRIAL    OF    JEANNE    DARC.  447 

■which  he  possesses.  Those  who  are  inclined  to  set  down 
all  such  pretensions  as  conscious  frauds  must  not  forget 
that  Socrates  spoke  familiarly  of  his  daemon,  whose  voice 
he  thought  he  heard,  and  whose  behests  he  professed  to 
obey  from  early  life  to  his  last  hours.  They  should  also 
recall  the  case  of  Columbus,  who  distinctly  heard  a  voice 
in  the  night  bidding  him  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  hold- 
ing out  hopes  of  success  which  were  not  fulfilled-.  Jeanne 
Dare  was  quick  enough  to  distrust  and  detect  other 
claimants  to  supernatural  visitations.  The  woman  who 
pretended  to  receive  nightly  visitations  from  a  Lady  in 
White  was  quickly  put  to  the  test.  Jeanne  Dare  resorted 
to  the  simple  expedient  of  passing  two  nights  with  her, 
and  when  the  vision  did  not  appear,  told  her  to  go  home 
and  take  care  of  her  husband  and  children.  This  Maid 
also  gave  two  proofs  of  genuineness  not  to  be  looked  for 
in  impostors.  In  her  village  home  she  was  noted  for  her 
skill  as  well  as  for  her  fidelity  in  the  labors  belonging  to 
her  position  ;  and  when  she  had  entered  upon  her  public 
life,  she  was  ever  found  in  the  thick  of  the  battle,  banner 
in  hand,  not  indeed  using  her  sword,  but  never  shrinking 
from  the  post  where  swords  were  bloodiest.  The  false 
knaves  of  this  world  neither  excel  in  homely  duties  nor 
lead  the  van  in  perilous  ones. 

France  had  never — has  never — been  so  near  extirpa- 
tion. "The  people,"  as  the  historian  Martin  expresses  it, 
'•  were  no  longer  bathed  in  their  sweat,  but  ground  in 
their  blood,  debased  below  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  among 
which  they  wander,  panic-stricken,  mutilated,  in  quest  of 
an  asylum  in  the  wilderness."  This  fervent  and  sympa- 
thetic girl  came  at  length  to  gee  the  desolation  of  her 
country;  her  own  village  was  laid  waste  and  plundered 
by  a  marauding  band.  From  childhood  she  had  been 
familiar  with  the  legend,  "  France,  lost  through  a  maid, 
shall  by  a  maid  be  saved." 


44S  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

The  story  of  her  exploits  at  court,  in  camp,  in  the  field, 
is  tamiliar  to  all  the  world.  A  thousand  vulgar  fictions 
obscure  and  degrade  its  essential  truth.  What  this 
untaught  girl  did  for  her  country  was  simply  this :  she 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  armies  of  France  the  influence 
of  what  our  own  Western  preachers  would  call  a  "  power- 
ful revival  of  religion."  From  bands  of  reckless  and 
dissolute  plunderers,  she  made  French  soldiers  orderly, 
decent,  moral,  and  devout.  Hope  revived.  She  made 
the  king  believe  in  himself ;  she  made  the  court  believe 
in  the  cause.  Men  of  faith  saw  in  her  the  expected  vir- 
gin savior:  men  of  understanding  perceived  the  advant- 
age to  their  side  of  having  her  thus  regarded.  She  may, 
too  (as  some  of  her  warrior  comrades  testified  in  later 
years),  have  really  possessed  some  military  talent,  as  well 
as  martial  ardor  and  inspiration.  They  said  of  her  that 
she  had  good  judgment  in  placing  artillery.  Later  in 
her  short  public  career  she  showed  herself  restless,  rash, 
uncontrollable  ;  she  made  mistakes ;  she  incurred  dis- 
asters. But  for  many  months,  during  which  France 
regained  a  place  among  the  powers  of  Europe,  she  was  a 
glorious  presence  in  the  army — a  warrior  virgin,  in  bril- 
liant attire,  splendidly  equipped,  superbly  mounted,  nobly 
attended  ;  a  leader  whom  all  eyes  followed  with  confiding 
admiration,  as  one  who  had  been  their  deliverer,  and 
was  still  their  chief.  The  lowliness  of  her  origin  was  an 
element  in  her  power  over  a  people  who  worshiped 
every  hour  a  Saviour  who  was  cradled  in  a  manger.  We 
can  still  read  over  the  door  of  an  ancient  inn  at  Rheims, 
the  Maison  Rouge,  this  inscription :  "  In  the  year  1429, 
at  the  coronation  of  Charles  VII,  in  this  tavern,  then 
called  The  Zebra,  the  father  and  mother  of  Jeanne  Dare 
lodged,  at  the  expense  of  the  City  Council." 

Her  career  could  not  but  be  brief.  When  she  left  home 
to  deliver  her  country,  she  had  lived,  according  to  the 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  449 

most  recent  French  authorities,  seventeen  years  and  two 
months.  Fifteen  months  later,  May  24,  1439,  after  a 
series  of  important  victories  followed  hy  minor  defeats, 
she  was  taken  prisoner  under  the  walls  of  Compi&gne, 
which  she  was  attempting  to  relieve.  French  troops, 
lighting  on  the  side  of  the  English,  captured  her  and 
held  her  prisoner.  French  priests,  in  the  metropolitan 
church  of  Ndtre  Dame  at  Paris,  celebrated  her  capture 
by  a  "  Te  Deum."  It  is  doubtful  if  her  own  king 
lamented  her;  for  this  devoted,  deluded  girl  belonged  to 
the  order  of  mortals  whom  the  powers  of  this  world  often 
find  it  as  convenient  to  be  rid  of  as  to  use.  It  is  proba- 
ble that  she  had  expended  her  power  to  be  of  service  and 
had  become  unmanageable.  Small,  needless  failures, 
chargeable  to  her  own  rash  impetuosity,  had  lessened  her 
prestige.  For  the  fair  and  wanton  Agnes  Sorel  the  idle 
King  of  France  would  have  attempted  much  ;  but  he 
made  no  serious  effort  to  ransom  or  to  rescue  the  Maid 
to  whom  he  owed  his  crown  and  kingdom. 

Politicians  are  much  the  same  in  every  age,  since  the 
work  they  have  to  do  is  much  the  same  in  every  age. 
Two  parties  as  well  as  two  kings  were  contending  for  the 
possession  of  France,  and  one  of  these,  by  the  prompt 
and  adroit  use  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  had  gained  for 
their  side  the  conquering  force  of  a  religious  revival. 
Bedford,  the  regent  of  the  kingdom,  who  had  seen  his 
conquests  falling  away  from  him  before  the  banner  of  a 
rustic  girl,  felt  the  necessity  of  depriving  his  rival  of  this 
advantage.  If  there  were  two  powers  contending  for  the 
kingdom  of  France,  were  there  not  two  powers  contending 
for  the  kingdom  of  this  world  ?  Loyal  France  had  accepted 
the  Maid  as  sent  from  God  ;  it  now  devolved  upon  the 
English  regent  to  demonstrate  that  she  was  an  agent  of 
Satan.  He  bought  her  of  her  captors  for  ten  thousand 
pounds — a  vast  sum  for  that  period — and  had  her  brought 


4.">0  THE    TRIAL    OF    JEANNE    DARC. 

to  Rouen,  a  chief  seat  of  the  English  power,  where  to  this 
day  the  bones  of  the  regent  lie  magnificently  entombed 
in  the  cathedral.  There  he  caused  a  trial  to  be  arranged, 
of  a  character  so  imposing  as  to  command  the  attention 
of  Europe.  No  homage  rendered  her  by  her  adherents 
conveys  to  us  such  a  sense  of  her  importance  as  this  trial 
contrived  by  an  able  ruler  to  neutralize  her  influence. 

A  politician  who  had  the  bestowal  of  church  prefer- 
ments could  as  easily  find  ecclesiastics  to  execute  his  will 
as  a  politician,  who  has  only  trivial,  precarious  offices  to 
give,  can  pack  a  convention  and  control  a  caucus.  Bed- 
ford's written  promise  of  the  archbishopric  of  Rouen 
made  Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  his  superserviceable 
agent,  through  whom  all  that  was  most  imposing  and 
authoritative  in  the  Church  convened  at  Rouen  to  try  the 
Maid.  Bishops,  abbe's,  priors,  six  representatives  of  the 
University  of  Paris,  the  chief  officer  of  the  Inquisition, 
learned  doctors,  noted  priests — in  a  word,  sixty  of  the 
elite  of  the  Church  in  English  France,  all  of  them  French- 
men— assisted  at  the  trial. 

The  castle  at  Rouen,  a  vast  and  impregnable  edifice 
in  the  style  of  the  period,  was  the  scene  of  these  transac- 
tions. The  great  tower  is  still  iii  good  preservation ; 
the  rest  of  the  structure  has  disappeared.  This  gloomy- 
looking  extensive  edifice,  Jeanne  Dare's  prison  and  court- 
house, was  the  centre  of  interest  to  two  kingdoms 
during  her  half  year's  detention.  It  swarmed  with  in- 
habitants. As  if  to  nullify  the  Maid's  effective  stroke 
of  the  Rhcims  coronation,  the  uncles  of  the  English 
king,  who  was  not  yet  ten  years  of  age,  had  brought 
him  once  more  to  France,  and  he  remained  an  inmate 
of  the  castle  of  Rouen  during  the  trial.  A  Norman 
chronicler,  who  saw  his  entry  into  Rouen  in  July, 
14o0,  speaks  of  him  as  a  very  beautiful  boy  (ung  tres 
beau  filz),  and  adds  that  the  streets   through  which  he 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC.  451 

passed  were  more  magnificently  decorated  than  they  had 
ever  been  before  on  sacramental  days.  At  the  gate  were 
banners  on  which  were  blazoned  the  arms  of  England 
and  France ;  and  on  his  way  to  the  cathedral  the  people 
cheered  him  so  loudly  that  the  little  king  told  them  to 
cease,  for  they  made  too  much  noise.  Shows  were  exhib- 
ited in  the  streets,  and  the  king  looked  at  them ;  and 
when  at  last  he  entered  his  castle,  the  bells  rang  out  a 
peal  as  if  God  himself  had  descended  from  heaven.  There 
he  remained  for  a  year  with  his  uncle  Bedford,  the  regent, 
his  grand-uncle  Beaufort,  Cardinal  of  Winchester,  his 
governor,  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  chief  officers  of 
both  the  royal  and  the  vice-royal  courts,  all  intent  upon 
undoing  in  France  what  a  village  maiden  had  wrought  in 
fifteen  months.  The  castle  was  pervaded  with  intense 
life,  and  an  ill-disciplined  host  of  guards  and  men-at-arms 
were  posted  about  it. 

Jeanne  Dare,  treated  by  her  French  captors  with 
decency  and  consideration,  and  detained  in  a  lordly 
chateau  more  as  a  guest  than  a  prisoner,  bore  the  first 
months  of  her  confinement  with  patience  and  dignity. 
On  one  point  only  she  showed  herself  obstinate :  she 
refused  to  lay  aside  her  man's  dress.  The  people  of  that 
day,  if  we  may  judge  from  these  old  records,  held  in  par- 
ticular horror  the  wearing  of  man's  clothes  by  a  woman. 
The  ladies  of  the  chateau,  knowing  what  an  advantage 
this  costume  gave  her  enemies,  provided  her  with  woman's 
clothes,  and  besought  her  to  put  them  on.  She  could  not 
be  persuaded  to  so,  alleging  that  she  had  assumed  her 
man's  dress  by  Divine  command,  and  had  not  yet  received 
Divine  permission  to  change  it.  In  other  respects  she 
was  tractable,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  the  events  of  the 
war,  ever  longing  to  be  again  in  the  field. 

The  news  reached  her  at  length  that  she  had  been  sold 
to  the  English — the  dreadful  English ! — and  was  about  to 


452  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

be  given  up  to  them.  "  I  would  rather  die,"  she  cried,  in 
despair,  "  than  be  surrendered  to  the  English  ! "  Then 
her  thoughts  recurred  to  her  work  unfinished — her  coun- 
try not  yet  delivered.  "  Is  it  possible,"  she  added,  "  that 
God  will  let  those  good  people  of  Compiegne  perish,  who 
have  been  and  are  so  loyal  to  their  lord  ?  "  Some  days  of 
anguish  passed.  Then  she  took  a  desperate  resolution. 
"  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,"  she  afterwards  said  ;  and  so, 
"  recommending  herself  to  God  and  our  Lady,"  she  sprang 
one  night  from  the  tower  in  which  she  was  confined  to 
the  ground,  a  height,  as  M.  Quicherat  computes,  of 
between  sixty  and  seventy  feet.  It  was  her  only  chance, 
and  it  zcas  a  chance,  for  she  was  found  the  next  morning 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  insensible,  indeed,  but  with 
no  bones  broken,  and  not  seriously  injured.  She  soon 
revived,  and  in  three  days  was  able  to  walk  about.  The 
English  claimed  their  prey,  and  soon  had  her  safe  in  the 
castle  of  Rouen. 

Her  new  masters  did  not  mean  that  she  should  escape. 
They  assigned  her  a  room  in  the  first  story  of  the  castle, 
"  up  eight  steps,"  placed  two  pair  of  shackles  upon  her 
legs,  and  chained  her  night  and  day  to  a  thick  post.  It  was 
their  policy  to  degrade  as  well  as  to  keep  her,  and  they 
accordingly  gave  her  five  guards  of  the  lowest  rank,  three 
of  whom  were  to  be  always  in  her  room,  night  and  day, 
and  two  outside.  In  this  woful  plight,  manacled,  chained, 
watched,  but  not  protected,  by  soldiers,  with  on!}-  a  bed 
for  all  furniture,  was  she  held  captive  for  three  months, 
awaiting  trial — she  who  had  until  recently  shone  resplen- 
dent at  the  head  of  armies,  and  to  whom  mothers  had 
held  up  their  children  as  she  passed  through  towns,  hop- 
ing to  win  for  them  the  benediction  of  her  smile. 

Her  room,  we  are  told,  had  three  keys,  one  of  which 
was  kept  by  the  Cardinal  of  Winchester,  one  by  the 
Inquisitor,  and  the  other  by  the  manager  of  the  trial; 


THE   TRIAL    OP    JEANNE    DARC.  453 

and  yet,  as  it  seems,  almost  any  one  who  chose  could 
enter  her  room,  gaze  upon  her,  and  even  converse  with 
her.  The  little  king  saw  her.  The  king's  advocate 
visited  her,  and  jested  with  her  upon  her  condition,  saying 
that  she  would  not  have  come  to  Rouen  if  she  had  not 
been  brought  thither,  and  asking  if  she  had  known  before- 
hand if  she  should  be  taken. 

"  I  feared  it,"  said  she. 

"  If  you  feared  it,"  he  asked,  "  why  were  you  not  upon 
your  guard  ?  " 

She  replied,  "  I  did  not  know  the  day  nor  the  hour." 

After  preliminaries  that  threatened  to  be  endless,  the 
public  part  of  the  trial  began  on  Wednesday,  February 
21,  1431,  at  eight  in  the  morning,  in  the  great  chapel  of 
the  chateau.  The  Bishop  of  Beauvais  presided,  and  of 
the  sixty  ecclesiastics  summoned  forty-four  were  present. 
Three  authorized  reporters  were  in  their  places,  and  there 
were  some  other  clerks,  concealed  by  a  curtain,  who  took 
notes  for  the  special  use  of  the  English  regent.  There 
was  a  crowd  of  spectators,  "  a  great  tumult "  in  the 
chapel,  and  very  little  order  in  the  proceedings.  At  a 
time  when  lords  took  their  dogs  and  hawks  into  church 
with  them,  and  merchants  made  their  bargains  in  the 
naves  of  cathedrals,  we  need  not  look  for  a  scrupulous 
decorum  in  a  court  convened  to  try  a  girl  for  the  crime  of 
being  "  vehemently  suspected  of  heresy."  That  was  the 
charge :  vehementement  suspecte  d'heresie.  And  such  a 
grand  tumult  was  there  in  the  chapel  that  day  that  the 
subsequent  sessions  were  held  in  a  smaller  hall  of  the 
castle. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  in,  freed  from  her  chains,  and 
was  allowed  to  sit.  No  one  of  the  many  pens  employed 
in  recording  the  events  of  this  day  has  given  us  any  hint 
of  her  appearance.  We  have,  indeed,  the  enumeration  of 
the  articles  of  her  man's  attire,  which  was  made  such  a 


454  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

heinous  charge  against  her :  "  The  hair  cut  round  like 
that  of  young  men,  shirt,  breeches,  doublet  with  twenty 
points  reaching  to  the  knee,  hat  covering  only  the  top  of 
the  head,  boots  and  gaiters,  with  spurs,  sword,  dagger, 
cuirass,  lance,  and  other  arms  carried  by  soldiers."  This 
was  her  equipment  for  the  field.  She  still  wore  man's 
dress,  and  doubtless  her  person  showed  the  effects  of  nine 
months'  imprisonment  and  three  months  of  chains  and 
fetters. 

The  presiding  bishop  told  her  to  place  her  hands  upon 
the  Gospel  and  swear  to  answer  truly  the  questions  that 
would  be  proposed  to  her.  "  I  do  not  know,"  said  she, 
"  upon  what  you  wish  to  question  me.  Perhaps  you  will 
ask  me  things  which  I  ought  not  to  tell  you."  "  Swear," 
rejoined  the  bishop,  "  to  tell  the  truth  upon  whatever  may 
be  asked  of  you  concerning  the  faith  and  the  facts  within 
your  knowledge." 

"  As  to  my  father  and  mother,"  she  said,  "  and  what  I 
did  after  setting  out  for  France,  I  will  swear  willingly ; 
but  the  revelations  which  have  come  to  me  from  God,  to 
no  one  have  I  related  or  revealed  them,  except  alone  to 
Charles,  my  king;  and  I  shall  not  reveal  them  to  you 
though  you  cut  off  my  head,  because  I  have  received  them 
by  vision  and  by  secret  communication,  with  injunction 
not  to  reveal  them.  Before  eight  days  have  passed  I  shall 
know  if  I  am  to  reveal  them  to  you." 

The  bishop  urged  her  again  and  again  to  take  the  oath 
without  conditions.  She  refused,  and  they  were  at  length 
obliged  to  yield  the  point,  and  accept  a  limited  oath. 
Upon  her  knees,  with  both  hands  placed  upon  a  missal, 
she  swore  to  answer  truly  whatever  might  be  asked  of 
her,  so  far  as  she  could,  concerning  the  common  faith  of 
Christians,  but  no  more.  Being  then  questioned  concern- 
ing her  name  and  early  life,  she  answered  thus : 

"  In  my  own  country  I  was  called  .Teannette ;  since  I 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  455 

have  been  in  France  I  have  been  called  Jeanne.  As  to 
my  surname  I  know  nothing.  I  was  born  at  the  village 
of  Domremy,  which  makes  one  with  the  village  of  Greux. 
The  principal  church  is  at  Greux.  My  father  is  named 
Jacques  Dare ;  my  mother  Ysabelle.  I  was  baptized  in 
the  church  of  Domremy.  One  of  my  godmothers  was 
named  Agnes,  another  Jeanne,  a  third  Sibylle.  One  of 
my  godfathers  was  Jean  Lingue,  another  Jean  Varrey. 
I  had  several  other  godmothers,  as  I  have  heard  my 
mother  say.  I  was  baptized,  I  believe,  by  Messire  Jean 
Minet.  I  think  he  is  still  living.  I  think  I  am  about 
nineteen  years  of  age.  From  my  mother  I  learned  my 
Pater,  my  Ave  Marie,  and  my  Credo.  I  learned  from  my 
mother  all  that  I  believe." 

"  Say  your  Pater,"  said  the  presiding  bishop. 

"  Hear  me  in  confession,  and  I  will  say  it  for  you  will- 
ingly." 

Several  times  she  was  asked  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
but  she  always  replied,  "  No,  I  will  not  say  my  Pater  for 
you  unless  you  hear  me  in  confession." 

"  We  will  willingly  give  you,"  said  the  bishop,  "  one  or 
two  notable  men  who  speak  French ;  Mill  you  say  your 
Pater  to  them  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  say  it,"  was  her  reply,  "  unless  in  con- 
fession." 

As  the  session  was  about  to  close,  the  bishop  forbade 
her  to  leave  the  prison  which  had  been  assigned  her  in  the 
castle,  under  pain  of  being  pronounced  guilty  of  heresy, 
the  crime  charged. 

"I  do  not  accept  such  an  injunction,"  she  replied.  "If 
ever  I  escape,  no  one  shall  be  able  to  reproach  me  with 
having  broken  my  faith,  as  I  have  not  given  my  word  to 
any  person  whatever."  She  continued  to  speak,  in 
language  not  recorded,  complaining  that  they  had  bound 
her  with  chains  and  shackles. 


456  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

"  You  tried  several  times,"  said  the  bishop,  "  to  escape 
from  the  prison  where  you  were  detained,  and  it  was  to 
keep  you  more  surely  that  you  were  ordered  to  be  put  in 
irons." 

"  It  is  true,"  was  her  reply,  "  I  wished  to  get  away,  and 
I  wish  it  still.  Is  that  not  a  thing  allowed  to  every 
prisoner  ? " 

She  was  then  removed  to  her  chamber,  and  the  court 
broke  up.  The  next  morning  at  eight,  in  the  robing-room 
of  the  chateau — a  large  apartment  near  the  great  drawing- 
room — the  court  again  convened,  forty-seven  dignitaries 
of  the  Church  being  assembled.  Again  the  captive  was 
unchained  and  brought  in.  Again  she  sat  in  the  presence 
of  this  convocation  of  trained  men,  alone,  without 
advocate,  counsel,  or  attorney.  She  understood  the  issue 
between  herself  and  them.  The  managers  of  the  trial 
meant  to  make  France  believe  that  this  girl  was  an 
emissary  of  the  devil,  and  thus  she  felt  herself  compelled 
to  fail  back  upon  her  claim  to  be  the  chosen  of  God,  and 
to  insist  upon  this  with  painful  repetition.  We  must  bear 
in  mind  that  she  was  absolutely  severed  from  all  active, 
efficient  human  sympathy.  It  was  a  contest  between  one 
poor,  ignorant  girl  and  the  managers  of  the  court,  paid 
and  backed  by  the  power  that  governed  all  England  and 
half  France,  with  the  stake  as  the  certain  consequence  to 
her  of  an  erroneous  line  of  defence.  In  all  the  trial  she 
was  the  only  witness  examined. 

Again  the  bishop  required  her  to  take  the  oath  without 
conditions ;  to  which  she  replied,  "  I  swore  yesterday ; 
*-hat  ought  to  suffice." 

"  Every  person,"  said  the  bishop,  "  though  he  were  a 
prince,  being  required  to  swear  in  any  matter  relating  to 
the  faith,  cannot  refuse." 

"I  took  the  oath  yesterday,"  said  she  ;  "  that  ought  to 
be  sufficient  fjr  you.     You  ask  too  much  of  me."     The 


THE    TRIAL    OF   JEANNE    DARC.  457 

contest  ended  as  on  the  clay  before.  She  was  then  inter- 
rogated by  Jean  Beaupere,  a  distinguished  professor  of 
theology. 

"  How  old  were  you  when  you  left  your  father's  house  ? " 

"  As  to  my  age,  I  cannot  answer." 

"  Did  you  learn  any  trade  in  your  youth  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  learned  to  spin  and  sew.  In  sewing  and  spin- 
ning I  fear  no  woman  in  Rouen.  For  fear  of  the 
Burgundians  *  I  left  my  father's  house  and  went  to  the 
city  of  Neufchateau,  in  Lorraine,  to  the  house  of  a  woman 
named  La  Rousse,  where  I  remained  about  fifteen  days. 
While  I  was  at  my  father's  I  assisted  at  the  usual  labors 
of  the  house.  I  was  not  accustomed  to  go  to  the  fields 
with  the  sheep  and  other  animals.  Every  year  I  con- 
fessed to  my  own  pastor,  and,  when  he  was  engaged,  to 
another  priest  with  his  permission.  Sometimes,  also — 
two  or  three  times,  I  believe — I  confessed  to  religious 
mendicants.  That  was  at  Neufchateau.  At  Easter  I 
received  the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist." 

"  Did  you  receive  the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist  at 
other  festivals  besides  Easter  ?  " 

"No  matter.  I  was  thirteen  years  old  when  I  had  a 
voice  from  God,  which  called  upon  me  to  conduct  myself 
well.  The  first  time  I  heard  that  voice  I  was  terrified. 
It  was  noon,  in  summer,  in  my  father's  garden.  I  had 
not  fasted  the  evening  before.  I  heard  that  voice  at  my 
right,  toward  the  church.  I  seldom  heard  it  when  it  was 
not  accompanied  by  a  flash.  This  flash  came  from  tho 
same  side  as  the  voice.  Usually  it  was  very  brilliant. 
Since  I  have  been  in  France  I  have  often  heard  that 
voice." 

"  But  how  could  you  sec  the  flash  which  you  mentioned, 
since  it  was  on  one  side  ? " 

*  French  faction  siding  with  the  English. 


458  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE  DARC. 

She  did  not  answer  this  foolish  question,  but  immedi- 
ately resumed,  thus : 

"  If  I  was  in  a  forest  I  would  hear  the  voice,  for  it 
would  come  to  me.  It  appeared  to  me  to  come  from  lips 
worthy  of  respect ;  I  believe  it  was  sent  to  me  by  God. 
When  I  heard  it  for  the  third  time  I  recognized  that  it 
was  the  voice  of  an  angel.  That  voice  has  always  guarded 
me  well,  and  I  have  always  well  understood  it.  It  told 
me  to  behave  well  and  to  go  often  to  church ;  it  said  to 
me  that  I  must  go  into  France.  Do  you  ask  me  in  what 
form  that  voice  appeared  to  me  ?  You  will  not  have  more 
about  it  from  me  this  time.  Two  or  three  times  a  week 
it  said  to  me,  '  You  must  go  into  France !  '  My  father 
knew  nothing  about  my  going.  The  voice  said  to  me, 
'  Go  into  France  ! '  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  It  said  to 
me :  '  Go  ;  raise  the  siege  of  the  city  of  Orleans.  Go,' 
it  added,  '  to  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  commandant  of 
Vaucouleurs ;  he  will  furnish  people  to  accompany  you.' 
But  I  am  a  poor  girl,  who  knows  neither  how  to  ride  on 
horseback  nor  make  war !  I  went  to  my  uncle's  house, 
and  told  him  my  wish  to  remain  with  him  some  time  ; 
and  there  I  remained  eight  days.  To  him  I  said  I  must 
go  to  Vaucouleurs.  He  took  me  there.  When  I  arrived 
I  knew  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  although  I  had  never  seen 
him.  I  knew  him,  thanks  to  my  voice,  which  caused  me' 
to  know  him.  I  said  to  Robert,  '  I  must  go  into  France.' 
Twice  Robert  refused  to  hear  me,  and  repelled  me.  The 
third  time  he  received  me,  and  furnished  me  men ;  the 
voice  had  said  that  it  would  be  so.  The  Due  de  Lorraine 
sent  orders  to  have  me  brought  to  him.  I  went ;  I  said 
to  him  that  I  wished  to  go  into  France.  The  duke  ques- 
tioned me  upon  his  health,  and  I  told  him  I  knew  nothing 
about  it.  I  spoke  to  him  little  about  my  journey.  I  told 
him  he  had  to  furnish  me  his  son  and  some  people  to 
conduct  me  into  France,  and  that  I  would  pray  to  God  for 


THE   TRIAL   OP   JEANNE   DARC.  459 

his  health.  I  went  to  him  with  a  safe-conduct ;  thence  I 
returned  to  Vaucouleurs.  From  Vaucouleurs  I  set  out 
dressed  like  a  man,  with  a  sword  given  me  by  Robert  de 
Baudricourt,  without  other  arms.  I  had  with  me  a 
knight,  a  squire,  and  four  servants,  with  whom  I  reached 
the  city  of  St.  Urbain,  where  I  slept  in  an  abbey.  On  the 
way  I  passed  through  Auxerre,  where  I  heard  mass  in  the. 
principal  church.  At  that  time  I  often  had  my  voices." 
"  Who  advised  you  to  wear  men's  clothes  ?  " 
Again  and  again  she  refused  all  answer  to  this  question; 
but  at  last  she  said,  "  I  charge  no  one  with  that."  Then 
she  ran  on  in  this  manner:  "Robert  de  Baudricourt 
made  the  men  who  accompanied  me  swear  to  conduct  me 
safely  and  well.  '  Go,'  said  he  to  me — '  go,  let  come  of 
it  what  will!'  I  well  know  that  God  loves  the  Due 
d'Orle*ans ;  I  have  had  more  revelations  about  the  Due 
d'Orl&ins  than  about  any  living  man  except  my  king.  I 
had  to  change  my  woman's  dress  for  a  man's.  Upon  that 
point  my  counsel  advised  me  well.  I  sent  a  letter  to  the 
English  before  Orleans,  telling  them  to  depart,  as  appears 
from  a  copy  of  my  letter  which  has  been  read  in  this  city 
of  Rouen ;  but  in  that  copy  there  are  two  or  three  words 
which  arc  not  in  my  letter.  '  Yield  to  the  Maid,'  ought 
to  be  changed  to  '  Yield  to  the  king.'  These  words  also 
are  not  in  my  letter — '  body  for  body,'  and  '  chief  of  war.' 
I  went  without  difficulty  to  the  king.  Having  arrived  at 
the  village  of  St.  Catherine  de  Flerbois,  I  sent  for  the 
first  time  to  the  chateau  of  Chinon,  where  the  king  was. 
I  reached  Chinon  toward  noon,  and  took  lodgings  at  first 
at  an  inn.  After  dinner  I  went  to  the  king,  who  was  in 
the  chateau.  When  I  entered  the  room  where  he  was,  I 
knew  him  among  many  others  by  the  counsel  of  my 
voice,  which  revealed  him  to  me.  I  told  him  that  I 
wished  to  go  and  make  war  against  the  English." 

"  When  the  voice  showed  you  the  king,  was  there  any 
light  there  ? " 

2i 


4G0  THE   TRIAL   OP   JEANNE   DARC. 

"  Pass  on."     , 

"  Did  you  see  any  angel  above  the  king  ? " 

"  Spare  me  ;  pass  on.  Before  the  king  sent  me  to  the 
field,  he  had  many  apparitions  and  beautiful  revelations." 

"  What  revelations  and  apparitions  did  the  king  have?  " 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you.  This  is  not  the  time  to  answer 
you ;  but  send  to  the  king ;  he  will  tell  you.  The  voice 
had  promised  me  that  as  soon  as  I  had  reached  the  king, 
he  would  receive  me.  Those  of  my  party  knew  well  that 
the  voice  was  sent  me  from  God;  they  saw  and  knew 
that  voice.  I  am  certain  of  it.  My  king  and  several 
others  have  heard  and  seen  the  voices  which  came  to  me ; 
there  was  Charles  de  Bourbon  and  two  or  three  others. 
No  day  passes  in  which  I  do  not  hear  that  voice,  and  I 
have  much  need  of  it.  But  never  have  I  demanded  of  it 
any  recompense  except  the  salvation  of  my  soul.  The 
voice  told  me  to  remain  at  St.  Denis,  in  France,  and  I 
wished  to  do  so ;  but  against  my  will  the  lords  made  me 
set  out  thence.  If  I  had  not  been  wounded,  I  should  not 
have  gone.  After  having  left  St.  Denis,  I  was  wounded 
in  the  defences  of  Paris ;  but  I  was  cured  in  five  days. 
It  is  true  that  I  made  a  skirmish  before  Paris  " 

"  Was  not  that  on  a  holy  day?" 

"  I  believe  it  was." 

"  Was  it  well  to  make  an  assault  on  a  holy  day  ?  " 

To  this  she  only  replied  by  saying : 

"  Pass  on,"  and  the  questioning  then  ceased  for  the 
day.  The  next  morning,  for  the  first  time,  a  full  court 
was  present,  the  presiding  bishop  and  sixty-two  abbe's, 
priors,  and  other  priests.  Little  was  extracted  from  her 
during  this  day's  examination,  although  she  made  some 
spirited  answers.  Being  asked  if  she  knew  that  she  was 
in  a  state  of  grace,  she  said,  "  If  I  am  not,  God  put  me  in 
it!  if  I  am,  God  keep  me  in  it!"  They  asked  her  if  the 
people  of  her  village  were  not  of  the  French  party. 


THE   TRIAL   OF  JEANNE   DARC.  4C1 

The  old  village  partisanship  blazed  up  in  her  answer : 
"  If  I  had  known  one  Burgundian  at  Domremy,  I  should 
have  been  willing  to  have  his  head  cut  off  —  that  is,  if  it 
had  pleased  God." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  Monday  following 
was  probably  some  holy  day  of  Lent,  for  the  next  session 
of  the  court  occurred  on  Tuesday,  when  she  was  exam- 
ined by  the  same  "  Master  Beaupere,"  distinguished 
theologian.  He  questioned  her  long,  and  led  her  on  to 
admissions  which  her  enemies  knew  well  how  to  use 
against  her. 

"How  have  you  been  since  Saturday  last?" 

"  You  see  well  how  I  have  been ;  I  have  been  as  well 
as  I  could  be." 

"  Do  you  fast  every  day  during  this  Lent  ? " 

"  Has  that  anything  to  do  with  the  case?  No  matter: 
yes,  I  have  fasted  every  day  during  this  Lent." 

"  Have  you  heard  your  voice  since  Saturday  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  several  times." 

"  On  Saturday  did  you  hear  it  in  this  hall  where  you 
are  questioned  ?  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  your  case.  No  maimer  : 
yes,  I  heard  it." 

"  What  did  it  say  to  you  last  Saturday  ? " 

"  I  did  not  well  understand  it,  and  I  heard  nothing 
that  I  can  repeat  to  you  until  I  had  gone  to  my  chamber." 

"  What  did  it  say  to  you  in  your  chamber  on  your 
return  ? " 

"  It  said  to  me,  '  Answer  them  boldly.'  I  take  counsel 
of  my  voices  upon  what  you  ask  me.  I  shall  willingly 
tell  you  what  I  shall  have  from  God  permission  to  reveal ; 
but  as  to  the  revelations  concerning  the  King  of  France, 
I  shall  not  tell  them  without  the  permission  of  my  voice.'* 

"  Has  your  voice  forbidden  you  to  reveal  all  ?" 

"I  have  noi  well  understood  it." 


462  THE  TRIAL  OP  JEANNE  DARC. 

"  What  did  the  voice  tell  you  last  ? " 

"  I  asked  advice  of  it  upon  certain  things  which  you 
asked  me." 

"Did  it  give  you  that  advice  ?" 

"  Upon  some  points,  yes  ;  upon  others  you  may  ask  me 
information  which  I  shall  not  give  you,  not  having 
received  permission.  For  if  I  should  respond  without 
permission,  I  should  have  no  more  voices  to  second  me. 
When  I  shall  have  permission  from  our  Lord,  I  shall  not 
fear  to  speak,  because  I  shall  have  warrant  so  to  do." 

"  Was  the  voice  which  spoke  to  you  that  of  an  angel, 
of  a  saint,  or  of  God  directly  ? " 

"  It  was  the  voice  of  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Margaret. 
Their  heads  were  adorned  with  beautiful  crowns,  very 
rich  and  very  precious.  I  have  permission  from  our 
Lord  to  tell  you  so  much.  If  you  have  any  doubt  of  this, 
send  to  Poitiers,  where  I  was  formerly  interrogated." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  they  were  saints  ?  How  did 
you  distinguish  one  from  the  other  ? " 

"  I  know  well  that  they  were  saints,  and  I  easily  dis- 
tinguish one  from  the  other." 

"  How  do  you  distinguish  them?  " 

"  By  the  salute  which  they  make  me.  Seven  years 
have  passed  since  they  undertook  to  guide  me.  I  know 
them  well,  because  they  have  named  themselves  to  me." 

"  Were  those  two  saints  clad  in  the  same  fabric  ?  " 

"  For  the  moment  I  shall  tell  you  no  more ;  I  have  not 
permission  to  reveal  it.  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  go  to 
Poitiers.  There  are  some  revelations  which  belong  to 
the  King  of  France,  and  not  to  you  who  interrogate  me." 

"  Are  the  two  saints  of  the  same  age  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  permitted  to  tell." 

"  Did  both  speak  at  once,  or  one  at  a  time  ? " 

"I  have  not  permission  to  tell  you;  nevertheless,  I 
have  always  had  counsel  from  both." 


THE   TRIAL   OP   JEANNE   DARC.  463 

"  Which  appeared  to  you  first  ? " 

"  I  distinguished  them  one  from  the  other.  I  knew 
how  I  did  it  once,  but  I  have  forgotten.  If  I  receive  per- 
mission I  will  willingly  tell  you ;  it  is  written  in  the 
record  at  Poitiers.  I  have  received  comfort  also  from 
St.  Michael." 

"Which  of  those  two  apparitions  came  to  you  first?" 

"  St.  Michael." 

"  Was  it  a  long  time  ago  that  you  heard  the  voice  of 
St.  Michael  for  the  first  time  ? " 

"  I  did  not  mention  the  voice  of  St.  Michael ;  I  told  you 
that  I  had  great  comfort  from  him." 

"  What  was  the  first  voice  that  came  to  you  when  you 
were  about  thirteen  years  of  age  ?  " 

"  It  was  St.  .Michael.  I  saw  him  before  my  eyes  ;  he 
was  not  alone,  but  was  surrounded  by  angels  from  heaven. 
I  only  came  into  France  by  the  command  of  God." 

"  Did  you  see  St.  Michael  and  those  angels  in  a  bodily 
form,  and  in  reality  ?" 

"  I  saw  them  with  the  eyes  of  my  body  as  well  as  I  can 
see  you.  When  they  left  me  I  wept,  and  wished  to  be 
borne  away  with  them." 

"  In  what  form  was  St.  Michael  ?" 

"  You  will  have  no  other  answer  from  me  ;  I  have  not 
yet  license  to  tell  you." 

"  What  did  St.  Michael  say  to  you  that  first  time  ? " 

"  You  will  have  no  answer  to-day.  My  voices  said  to 
me,  '  Answer  boldly.'  I  told  the  king  at  once  all  that 
was  revealed  to  me,  because  that  concerned  him ;  but  I 
have  not  yet  permission  to  reveal  to  you  all  that  St. 
Michael  said  to  me.  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  had  a 
copy  of  that  book  which  is  at  Poitiers,  if  it  please  God." 

"  Have  your  voices  forbidden  you  to  make  known  your 
revelations  without  permission  from  them?" 

"  I  do  not  answer  you  upon  that  point.     So  far  as  I 


464  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

have  received  permission  I  shall  answer  willingly.  I  did 
not  quite  understand  if  my  voices  forbade  me  to  reply." 

"  What  sign  do  you  give  that  you  received  that  revela- 
tion from  God,  and  that  it  was  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Mar- 
garet who  conversed  with  you  ?" 

"  I  have  told  you  it  was  they  ;  believe  me  if  you  wish." 

"  Is  it  forbidden  you  to  tell  it  ? " 

"  I  did  not  quite  understand  whether  it  wras  forbidden 
me  or  not." 

"  How  can  you  distinguish  the  things  which  you  have 
permission  to  reveal  from  those  which  you  are  forbidden?" 

"  Upon  certain  points  I  have  asked  permission,  and 
upon  some  I  have  obtained  it.  Rather  than  have  come 
into  France  without  God's  permission,  I  would  have  been 
torn  asunder  by  four  horses." 

"  Did  God  command  you  to  dress  like  a  man  ?  " 

"  As  to  that  dress,  it  is  a  trifle — less  than  nothing.  I 
did  not  take  it  by  the  advice  of  any  living  man ;  neither 
put  on  this  dress  nor  did  anything  else  except  by  the 
command  of  our  Lord  and  the  angels." 

"  Does  the  command  to  wear  a  man's  dress  seem  to  you 
lawful  [licite~]1" 

"  All  that  I  have  done  was  by  the  command  of  our 
Lord.  If  He  had  told  me  to  wear  another  dress,  I  should 
have  worn  it,  because  it  was  His  command." 

"  Did  you  not  assume  this  costume  by  the  order  of 
Robert  de  Baudricourt  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Do  you  think  you  did  well  to  wear  a  man's  dress  ?  " 

"  All  that  I  did  was  by  our  Lord's  order :  I  believe  I 
did  do  well.  I  expect  from  it  good  security  and  good 
succor." 

"  In  this  particular  case,  the  wearing  of  a  man's  dress, 
do  you  think  you  did  well  ? " 

*'  I  have  done  nothing  in  the  world  except  by  the  com- 
mand of  God." 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC.  465 

"  When  you  saw  that  voice  come  to  you,  was  there  any 
light  ?  " 

"  There  was  much  light  on  all  sides,  as  there  should 
have  been."  (To  the  interrogator).  "  There  does  not 
come  as  much  to  you." 

"  Was  there  an  angel  above  your  king's  head  when  you 
saw  him  for  the  first  time  ?  " 

"  By  our  Lady  !  if  there  was  one,  I  know  nothing  about 
it.     I  did  not  see  him." 

"  Was  there  any  light  ?  " 

"  There  were  more  than  three  hundred  knights,  and 
more  than  fifty  torches,  without  counting  the  spiritual 
light.     I  rarely  have  revelations  without  light." 

"  How  was  your  king  enabled  to  believe  in  your 
claims?" 

"  He  had  good  signs,  and  the  learned  clergy  rendered 
me  good  testimony." 

"  What  revelations  did  your  king  have  ?  " 

"  You  will  not  have  them  from  me  this  year.  I  was 
interrogated  for  three  weeks  by  the  clergy  at  Chinon  and 
at  Poitiers.  Before  being  willing  to  believe  me,  the  king 
had  a  sign  of  the  truth  of  my  statement,  and  the  clergy 
of  my  party  were  of  opinion  that  there  was  nothing  but 
good  in  my  undertaking." 

"  Were  you  at  St.  Catherine  de  Fierbois  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  there  I  heard  three  masses  in  one  day ;  then 
I  went  to  the  chateau  of  Chinon,  whence  I  sent  a  letter 
to  the  king  to  know  if  he  would  grant  me  an  interview, 
telling  him  that  I  had  traveled  a  hundred  and  fifty 
leagues  to  come  to  his  assistance,  and  that  I  knew  many 
things  favorable  to  him.  I  think  I  remember  saying  in 
my  letter  that  I  should  know  how  to  recognize  him  among 
all  others.  I  had  a  sword  which  1  obtained  at  Vau- 
couleurs.  Whilst  I  was  at  Tours  or  at  Chinon,  I  sent  to 
seek  a  sword  which  was  in  the  church  of  St.  Catherine  de 


466  THE   TRIAL    OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

Fierbois,  behind  the  altar  ;  and  there  it  was  immediately 
found,  covered  with  rust.  That  sword  was  in  the  earth 
rusty ;  above  it  there  were  five  crosses ;  I  knew  by  my 
voice  where  the  sword  was.  I  never  saw  the  man  who 
went  to  find  it.  I  wrote  to  the  priests  of  the  place  asking 
them  if  I  might  have  that  sword,  and  they  sent,  it  to  me. 
It  was  under  the  ground,  not  very  deep,  behind  the  altar, 
as  it  seems  to  me.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  it  was 
before  or  behind  the  altar,  but  I  think  I  wrote  it  was 
behind.  As  soon  as  it  was  found,  the  priests  of  the 
church  rubbed  it,  and  at  once,  without  effort,  the  rust  fell 
off.  It  was  an  armorer  of  Tours  who  went  to  find  it. 
The  priests  of  Fierbois  made  me  a  present  of  a  scabbard, 
those  of  Tours  of  another ;  one  was  of  crimson  velvet, 
the  other  of  cloth  of  gold.  I  caused  a  third  to  be  made 
of  very  strong  leather.  When  I  was  taken  I  had  not  that 
sword  on.  I  always  wore  the  sword  of  Fierbois  from  the 
time  I  had  it  until  my  departure  from  St.  Denis,  after  the 
assault  upon  Paris." 

"  What  benediction  did  you  pronounce,  or  cause  to  be 
pronounced,  upon  that  sword  ?" 

"  I  neither  blessed  it  nor  had  it  blessed;  I  should  not 
have  known  how  to  do  it.  Much  I  loved  that  sword, 
because  it  was  found  in  the  church  of  St.  Catherine, 
whom  I  warmly  love." 

"  Did  you  sometimes  place  your  sword  upon  an  altar, 
and  in  so  placing  it  was  it  that  your  sword  might  be  more 
fortunate  ? " 

"  Not  that  I  remember." 

"  Did  you  sometimes  pray  that  it  might  be  more  for- 
tunate ? " 

"  Beyond  question,  I  wished  my  arms  to  be  very  for- 
tunate." 

"  Had  you  that  sword  on  when  you  were  taken  ? " 

"  No ;  I  had  one  that  had  been  taken  from  a  Bur- 
ffundian." 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC.  467 

""Where  was  the  sword  of  Fierbois?" 

"  I  offered  a  sword  and  some  arms  to  St.  Denis,  but  it 
was  not  that  sword.  The  sword  I  then  wore  I  got  at 
Lagny,  and  wore  it  from  Lagny  even  to  Compiegne.  It 
was  a  good  sword  for  service ;  excellent  to  give  good 
whacks  and  wipes  [torchons].  As  to  what  has  become 
of  the  other  sword,  it  does  not  regard  this  trial,  and  I 
shall  not  now  reply  thereupon.  My  brothers  have  all  my 
property,  my  horses,  my  sword,  as  I  suppose,  and  the  rest, 
worth  more  than  twelve  thousand  crowns." 

••  When  you  were  at  Orleans,  had  you  a  standard  or 
banner,  and  of  what  color  was  it?" 

M 1  had  a  banner,  the  ground  of  which  was  covered  with 
lilies ;  and  there  was  a  picture  upon  it  of  the  world,  with 
an  angel  on  each  side.  It  was  white,  of  the  white  fabric 
called  fustian  [boucassiri].  There  was  written  upon  it,  I 
think,  '  Jhesus  Maria,'  and  it  was  fringed  with  silk." 

"  Were  the  names  of  Jhesus  Maria  written  on  the 
upper  or  the  under  part,  on  the  lower,  or  on  one  side  ? " 

"Upon  one  side,  I  believe." 

"  Which  did  you  love  best,  your  banner  or  your  sword  ?  " 

'•  Much  better,  forty  times  better,  my  banner  than  my 
sword." 

"  Who  caused  you  to  have  that  picture  made  upon  your 
banner  ? " 

"  Often  enough  I  have  told  you  that  I  did  nothing 
except  by  the  command  of  God.  It  was  myself  who 
carried  that  banner  when  I  attacked  the  enemy,  in  order 
to  avoid  killing  any  one,  for  I  have  never  killed  a  single 
person." 

"  What  force  did  your  king  give  you  when  he  accepted 
your  services  ?" 

"  He  gave  me  ten  or  twelve  thousand  men.  At  first  I 
went  to  Orleans,  to  the  tower  of  St.  Loup,  and  afterward 
to  that  of  the  bridge." 


468  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

"  At  the  attack  of  which  tower  was  it  that  you  with- 
drew  your  men  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember.  I  was  very  sure  of  raising  the 
seige  of  Orleans  ;  1  had  had  a  revelation  on  the  subject ; 
I  told  the  king  before  going  there  I  should  raise  it." 

"  Before  the  assault,  did  you  tell  your  people  that  you 
alone  would  receive  the  javelins  and  the  stones  thrown 
by  the  machines  and  cannons  ? " 

"  No ;  a  hundred  of  my  people,  and  even  more  were 
wounded.  I  said  to  them, ;  Fear  not,  and  you  will  raise 
the  siege.'  At  the  assault  of  the  bridge  tower  I  was 
wounded  in  the  neck  with  an  arrow  or  lance ;  but  I  had 
great  comfort  from  St.  Catherine,  and  I  was  cured  in  less 
than  fifteen  days.  I  did  not  cease  on  that  account  to  ride 
on  horseback  and  to  labor.  I  knew  well  1  should  be 
wounded  ;  I  told  my  king  so,  but  that,  notwithstanding,  I 
should  keep  at  work.  They  had  been  revealed  to  me  by 
the  voices  of  my  two  saints,  blessed  Catherine  and  blessed 
Margaret.  It  was  I  who  first  placed  a  ladder  against  the 
tower,  and  it  was  in  raising  that  ladder  that  I  was 
wounded  in  the  neck  by  the  lance." 

The  session  ended  soon  after,  and  the  prisoner  was 
removed.  There  were  six  of  these  public  examinations, 
but  nothing  further  of  much  importance  was  elicited  by 
them. 

The  public  examinations  being  at  an  end,  the  court 
took  a  week  to  review  and  consider  the  evidence  obtained. 
They  decided  that  further  light  was  needed  on  some 
points,  and  ordered  that  she  should  be  examined  in  secret 
by  seven  learned  doctors,  and  her  answers  recorded  for 
the  subsequent  use  of  the  whole  court.  There  were  nine 
of  these  secret  questionings,  but  she  adhered  to  her  fatal 
line  of  defence,  ever  insisting  upon  her  supernatural  pre- 
tensions, and  adding  particulars  which  placed  her  more 
hopelessly  than  before  in  the  power  of  her  enemies.     To 


THE    TRIAL    OP    JEANNE    DARC.  469 

complete  the  reader's  view  of  tins  portion  of  the  trial,  I 
select  one  of  these  secret  examinations  (the  fourth)  for 
translation,  in  which  she  overtasked  the  credulity  even  of 
her  adherents,  and  made  her  well-wishers  in  the  court 
powerless  to  serve  her. 

"  What  was  the  sign  which  you  gave  your  king  ?" 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  perjure  myself  ?" 

"  Have  you  promised  and  sworn  to  St.  Catherine  not  to 
reveal  that  sign  ?  " 

"  I  have  sworn  and  promised  not  to  reveal  that  sign, 
and  of  my  own  accord,  too,  because  they  pressed  me  too 
much  to  reveal  it ;  and  then  I  said  to  myself:  I  promise 
not  to  speak  of  it  to  any  man  in  the  world.  The  sign 
was  that  an  angel  assured  my  king,  when  bringing  him 
the  crown,  that  he  would  possess  the  whole  kingdom  of 
France,  through  the  help  of  God  and  my  labor.  The 
angel  told  him  also  to  set  me  at  work,  that  is  to  say,  give 
me  some  soldiers,  or  otherwise  he  would  not  be  crowned 
and  anointed  so  soon." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  St.  Catherine  since  yesterday  ?  " 

"I  have  heard  her  since  yesterday,  and  she  told  me 
several  times  to  answer  the  judges  boldly  concerning 
whatever  they  should  ask  me  touching  my  case." 

"  How  did  the  angel  carry  the  crown  ?  and  did  he  place 
it  himself  upon  your  king's  head  ?  " 

"  The  crown  was  given  to  an  archbishop,  namely,  the 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  I  believe  in  my  king's  presence. 
The  archbishop  received  it,  and  remitted  it  to  the  king. 
I  was  myself  present.  The  crown  was  afterward  placed 
in  my  king's  treasury." 

"  Where  was  it  that  the  crown  was  brought  to  the 
king  ? " 

"  It  was  in  the  king's  chamber  at  the  chateau  of 
Chinon." 

"  What  day  and  hour  ?  " 


470  THE    TRIAL   OF  JEANNE   DARC. 

"  As  to  the  I  day,  know  not ;  in  regard  to  the  hour,  it 
was  early.  I  have  no  further  recollection  concerning  it. 
For  the  month,  it  was  March  or  April,  it  seems  to  me, 
two  years  from  the  present  month.     It  was  after  Easter." 

"  Was  it  the  first  day  of  your  seeing  this  sign  that 
your  king  saw  it  also  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  saw  it  the  same  day." 

"Of  what  material  was  the  said  crown  ?" 

"  It  is  good  to  know  that  it  was  fine  gold ;  so  rich  was 
it  that  I  should  not  know  how  to  estimate  its  value,  nor 
appreciate  its  beauty.  The  crown  signified  that  my  king 
should  possess  the  kingdom  of  France." 

"  Were  there  any  precious  stones  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  what  I  know  of  it." 

"  Did  you  handle  or  kiss  it?" 

"  No." 

"  Did  the  angel  who  brought  that  crown  come  from 
heaven  or  earth  ?  " 

"  He  came  from  on  high,  and  I  understand  he  came 
by  the  command  of  our  Lord.  He  entered  by  the  door 
of  the  chamber.  When  he  came  before  my  king,  he 
paid  homage  to  him  by  bowing  before  him,  and  by  pro- 
nouncing the  words  which  I  have  already  mentioned,  and 
at  the  same  time  recalled  to  his  memory  the  beautiful 
patience  with  which  he  had  borne  his  great  troubles. 
The  angel  walked  from  the  door,  and  touched  the  floor  in 
coming  to  the  king." 

"  How  far  was  it  from  the  door  to  the  king  ? " 

"  My  impression  is  that  it  was  about  the  length  of  a 
lance  ;  and  lie  returned  by  the  same  way  he  had  entered. 
When  the  angel  came,  I  accompanied  him,  and  went  with 
him  up  the  staircase  to  the  king's  chamber.  The  angel 
entered  first,  and  then  myself,  and  I  said  to  the  king, 
'  Sire,  here  is  your  sign :  take  it.'  " 

"  In  what  place  did  the  angel  appear  to  you  ?  " 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC.  471 

"  I  was  almost  continually  in  prayer  that  God  would 
send  a  sign  to  the  king,  and  I  was  in  my  lodgings  at  a 
good  woman's  house  near  the  chateau  of  Chinon  when 
he  came ;  then  we  went  together  toward  the  king ;  he 
was  accompanied  by  other  angels  whom  no  one  saw.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  love  of  me,  and  to  put  me  beyond  the 
reach  of  those  who  accused  me,  1  believe  several  who  saw 
the  angel  would  not  have  seen  him." 

"  Did  all  who  were  with  the  king  see  the  angel  ?" 

"  I  believe  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  saw  him,  as  well 
as  the  lords  D'Alenc,on,  La  Tre'mouille,  and  Charles  de 
Bourbon.  As  to  the  crown,  many  churchmen  and  others 
saw  it  who  did  not  see  the  angel." 

"  Of  what  countenance,  of  what  stature,  was  that 
angel  ? " 

"  I  have  not  permission  to  say  ;  to-morrow  I  will  answer 
that." 

"  Were  all  the  angels  who  accompanied  him  of  the  same 
countenance  ? " 

"  Some  of  them  were  a  good  deal  alike,  others  not,  at 
least  from  my  point  of  view.  Some  had  wings  ;  others 
had  crowns.  In  their  company  were  St.  Catherine  and 
St.  Margaret,  who  were  with  the  angel  just  mentioned, 
and  the  other  angels  also,  even  in  the  king's  chamber." 

"  How  did  the  angel  leave  you  ? " 

"  He  left  me  in  a  little  chapel.  I  was  very  angry  at 
his  going.  I  wept.  Willingly  would  I  have  gone  away 
with  him — that  is  to  say,  my  soul." 

"  After  the  angel's  departure,  did  you  continue  joyful  ? " 

"  He  did  not  leave  me  fearful  or  frightened,  but  I  was 
angry  at  his  departure." 

"  Was  it  on  account  of  your  merit  that  God  sent  to  you 
His  angel  ?  " 

"  He  came  for  a  great  purpose,  and  I  was  in  hopes  that 
the  king  would  take  him  for  a  sign,  and  that  they  would 


472  THE  TRIAL   OF  JEANNE   DARC. 

cease  arguing  about  my  carrying  succor  to  the  good  peo- 
ple of  Orleans.  The  angel  came,  also,  for  the  merit  of 
the  king  and  of  the  good  Due  d'Orleans." 

"  Why  to  you  rather  than  another  ?  " 

"  It  pleased  God  to  act  thus  by  means  of  a  simple 
maid  in  order  to  repel  the  enemies  of  the  king." 

"  Has   lie   told   you   whence   the    angel   brought  that 


crown 


?» 


"  It  was  brought  from  God,  and  there  is  no  goldsmith 
in  the  world  who  could  make  it  so  rich  or  so  beautiful." 

"  Where  did  he  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  attribute  it  to  God,  and  know  not  otherwise  whence 
it  was  taken." 

"Did  a  good  smell  come  from  the  crown?  Did  it 
shine?" 

"I  do  not  remember;  I  will  inform  myself."  Resum- 
ing after  a  pause  :  "  Yes,  it  smelled  well,  and  will  always, 
provided  it  is  well  taken  care  of,  as  it  should  be.  It  was 
in  the  style  of  a  crown." 

"  Did  the  angel  write  you  a  letter  ? " 

"  No." 

"  What  sign  had  your  king,  the  people  who  were  with 
him,  and  yourself,  to  make  you  think  it  was  an  angel  ? " 

"  The  king  believed  it  through  the  instruction  of  the 
churchmen  who  were  there,  and  by  the  sign  of  the 
crown." 

"  But  how  did  the  clergy  themselves  know  that  it  was 
an  angel  ? " 

"  By  their  learning,  and  because  they  were  clergymen." 

The  session  closed  soon  after,  and  she  was  conducted 
once  more  to  her  apartment.  The  learned  doctors 
questioned  her  closely,  and  even  skillfully,  during  these 
nine  secret  sessions,  and  she  often  answered  them  with 
vivacity  and  force.  They  asked  her  one  day  why  she  had 
thrown  herself  from  the  tower.     She  told  them  that  she 


THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARfJ.  473 

had  heard  the  people  of  Compiegnc  were  to  be  put  to  the 
sword,  even  to  children  seven  years  of  age,  and  that  she 
preferred  to  die  rather  than  to  survive  such  a  massacre 
of  good  people.  "  That,"  she  added,  "  was  one  of  the 
reasons.  The  other  was,  I  knew  I  had  been  sold  to  the 
English,  and  I  held  it  better  to  die  than  fall  into  the 
hands  of  my  adversaries."  On  another  occasion  she 
declared  that  she  had  not  sprung  from  the  tower  in 
despair,  but  in  the  hope  of  escaping,  and  of  going  to  the 
succor  of  the  brave  men  who  were  in  peril.  She  owned, 
however,  that  it  was  a  rash  and  wrong  action,  of  which 
she  had  repented.  As  she  often  expressed  a  desire  to 
hear  mass,  they  asked  her  one  day  which  she  would  pre- 
fer, to  put  on  a  woman's  dress  and  hear  mass,  or  retain 
her  man's  clothes  and  not  hear  it.  Her  answer  was, 
<;  First  assure  me  that  I  shall  hear  mass  if  I  put  on 
woman's  clothes,  and  then  I  will  answer  you." 

"  Yery  well,"  said  the  questioner,  "  I  engage  that  you 
shall  hear  mass  if  you  will  put  on  a  woman's  dress." 

She  replied  that  she  would  wear  a  woman's  dress  to 
mass,  but  that  on  her  return  she  should  resume  her  man's 
clothes. 

They  asked  her  finally,  and  the  trial  turned  upon  this 
point,  if  she  was  willing  to  submit  all  her  words  and 
deeds  to  the  judgment  of  the  holy  mother  Church. 

"  The  Church  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  love  it,  and  desire 
to  sustain  it  with  my  whole  power,  for  the  sake  of  our 
Christian  faith.  It  is  not  I  who  should  be  hindered  from 
going  to  church  and  hearing  mass."  But  she  would  not 
answer  this  decisive  question  in  a  way  to  increase  her 
chances  of  escape.  As  to  what  she  had  done  for  her  king 
and  country,  she  said  she  submitted  it  all  to  God,  who 
had  sent  her,  and  then  she  wandered  into  a  prediction 
that  the  French  were  on  the  eve  of  a  great  victory.  The 
priest  repeated  his  question,  but  she  only  replied  that  she 


474  THE   TRIAL   OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

submitted  all  to  God,  our  Lady,  and  the  saints.  "  And 
my  opinion  is,"  said  she,  "  that  God  and  the  Church  are 
one."  The  questioner  then  explained  to  her  that  there 
was  a  Church  militant  and  a  Church  triumphant,  and 
that  it  was  to  the  Church  militant — consisting  of  the 
Pope,  cardinals,  bishops,  priests,  and  all  good  Catholics — 
to  which  her  submission  was  required. 

But  she  could  not  be  brought  to  submit  to  the  Church 
militant.  To  the  end  of  these  nine  incisive  questionings 
she  held  her  ground  firmly,  claiming  supernatural  war- 
rant for  all  that  she  had  done  for  her  king  and  party, 
glorying  in  it,  protesting  her  warm  desire  to  renew  her 
labors  in  the  field,  and  refusing  to  resume  the  dress  of  her 
sex.  She  said  that  if  they  condemned  her  to  the  stake, 
she  would  wear  at  the  last  hour  a  long  woman's  garment, 
but  till  then  she  should  retain  the  attire  assigned  her  by 
Divine  command.  She  refused,  a  few  days  after,  even  to 
change  her  dress  for  the  mass. 

Further  deliberation  followed,  and  at  length  the  charges 
against  her  were  drawn  up,  to  the  number  of  seventy, 
each  of  which  was  read  to  her  in  open  court,  and  her 
answer  required.  Many  weary  days  were  thus  consumed 
without  result.  When  the  last  charge  had  been  read  and 
answered,  she  was  asked  again  the  question  upon  which 
her  life  depended,  "  If  the  Church  militant  says  to  you 
that  your  revelations  are  illusory  or  diabolical,  will  you 
submit  to  the  decision  of  the  Church  ?  "  Her  answer  was 
the  same  as  before  :  "  I  submit  all  to  God,  whose  com- 
mand I  shall  always  obey." 

The  seventy  charges  were  then  condensed  to  twelve,  for 
the  convenience  of  the  court.  These  charges  were  chiefly 
drawn  from  her  own  avowals.  The  first  article,  for 
example,  accused  her  of  saying  that  she  had  been  visited 
and  guided  by  St.  Michael,  St.  Catherine,  and  St.  Marga- 
ret.    Her  leap  from  the  tower3  as  related  by  herself,  was 


THE   TRIAL   OP   JEANNE   DARC.  475 

one  of  the  charges,  her  inscribing  sacred  names  on  her 
banner  was  another.  The  charges,  in  short,  were  the 
condensed  statement  of  her  own  answers,  the  chief  point 
of  offence  being  that  she  claimed  for  her  mission  super-1 
natural  authorization  and  aid.  The  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  this  pretension  was  the  wearing  of  men's  clothes. 

The  patience  of  the  court  with  their  contumacious 
prisoner  was  remarkable,  and  seems  to  indicate  that  the 
court  as  a  body  meant  to  try  her  fairly,  and  that  there 
were  members  who  desired  her  acquittal.  Eight  learned 
doctors  were  next  appointed  to  visit  her  in  her  room,  and 
give  her  a  solemn  and  affectionate  admonition,  and  urge 
her,  by  timely  submission  and  repentance,  to  save  her 
body  from  the  fire  and  her  soul  from  perdition.  They 
performed  this  duty  well.  They  offered  to  send  her  other 
learned  men,  if  she  would  designate  them,  who  would 
visit  her,  instruct  her,  resolve  her  doubts,  and  guide  her 
into  the  true  way.  She  thanked  them  for  their  pains, 
adhered  to  all  her  pretensions,  and  refused  to  change  her 
dress.  "  Let  come  what  will,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  say 
or  do  otherwise." 

After  days  of  further  deliberation,  they  caused  her  to 
be  conducted  to  a  chamber  of  the  great  tower,  in  which 
were  the  apparatus  of  the  torture,  and  the  men  in  official 
costume  who  usually  applied  it.  "  Truly,"  said  she,  as 
she  looked  upon  the  hideous  implements,  "  if  you  tear  me 
limb  from  limb,  and  separate  soui  from  body,  I  should 
say  nothing  other  than  I  have  said ;  and  even  if  I  should, 
I  should  forever  maintain  that  you  made  me  say  it  by 
force."  And  she  went  on  to  speak  of  her  voices  in  her 
usual  manner.  The  court  decided  that,  considering  "  the 
hardness  of  her  heart,"  the  punishment  of  the  torture 
would  profit  her  little,  and  that  therefore  it  might  be  dis- 
pensed with,  at  least  for  the  present.  One  learned  and 
pious  doctor  thought  that  the  torture  would  be  a  "  salu- 

29 


476  THE   TRIAL    OF   JEANNE   DARC. 

tary  medicine  for  her  soul,"  but  the  general  opinion  was 
that  she  had  already  confessed  enough.  As  a  Catholic 
she  had  indeed  put  herself  fatally  in  the  wrong,  and  given 
her  enemies  all  the  pretext  for  her  condemnation  which 
the  age  required. 

More  deliberations  followed.  The  University  of  Paris 
was  formally  consulted,  and  would  give  but  one  answer  : 
either  the  events  related  by  the  prisoner  occurred,  or  they 
did  not  occur  ;  if  they  did  not  occur,  she  is  a  contuma- 
cious liar ;  if  they  did  occur,  she  is  a  sorceress  and  a 
servant  of  the  devil.  She  must  therefore  confess,  recant, 
renounce,  submit,  or  suffer  a  penalty  proportioned  to  her 
crimes.  This  decision  was  also  communicated  to  the  Maid 
with  the  utmost  solemnity,  and  she  was  again  exhorted  and 
entreated  to  submit.  The  address  delivered  to  her  on  this 
occasion  was  eloquent  and  pathetic,  and  the  argument 
presented  was  one  which  should  have  convinced  a  Catholic. 
The  orator,  however,  expended  his  main  strength  in  ten- 
der entreaty,  begging  her,  for  her  immortal's  soul's  sake, 
not  to  persist  in  setting  her  oavh  uninstructed  judgment 
against  that  of  the  University  of  Paris,  and  so  great  a 
body  of  eminent  clergy.  It  was  of  no  avail.  "  If,"  said 
she,  "  I  was  already  condemned,  if  I  saw  the  brand  lighted, 
the  fagots  ready,  and  the  executioner  about  to  kindle  the 
fire,  and  if  I  was  actually  in  the  flames,  I  should  say  only 
what  I  have  said,  and  maintain  all  that  I  have  said,  till 
death. 

She  was  to  have  one  more  opportunity  to  escape  the 
fire.  On  Thursday  morning,  May  24th,  the  scene  of  the 
trial  was  changed  from  a  room  in  Rouen  castle  to  the 
public  cemetery  of  the  city.  A  spacious  platform  was 
erected  for  the  prisoner.  The  "  Cardinal  of  England  " 
attended,  and  there  was  a  vast  concourse  of  excited 
people,  now  admitted  for  the  first  time  to  witness  the 
proceedings.     The  Maid  was  conveyed  to  the  spot  in  a 


THE   TRIAL    OF   JEANNE    DARC.  477 

cart,  and  placed  upon  the  stand  prepared  for  her,  the  cart 
remaining  to  take  her  to  the  castle  or  to  the  stake,  accord- 
ing to  the  issue  of  this  day's  session.  When  all  were  in 
their  places,  a  preacher  of  great  renown  rose,  and,  taking 
his  place  opposite  to  the  prisoner,  preached  a  sermon  upon 
the  text,  "  A  branch  can  not  bear  fruit  of  itself  except  it 
abide  in  the  vine,"  which  he  concluded  by  a  last  solemn 
exhortation  to  the  prisoner  to  yield  submission  to  the 
Church. 

She  was  not  shaken.  In  her  first  reply,  however,  she 
tried  a  new  expedient,  saying,  "  Send  to  Rome,  to  our  holy 
father  the  Pope,  to  whom,  after  God,  I  yield  submission." 
Three  times  she  was  asked  if  she  was  willing  to  renounce 
those  of  her  acts  and  words  which  the  court  condemned. 
Her  last  reply  was,  "  I  appeal  to  God  and  our  holy  father 
the  Pope." 

The  presiding  bishop  then  began  the  reading  of  her 
sentence.  The  reading  had  proceeded  two  or  three 
minutes,  when  suddenly  her  courage  failed  her,  and  she 
yielded.  She  interrupted  the  reading.  "  I  am  willing," 
she  cried,  "  to  hold  all  that  the  Church  ordains,  all-  that 
you  judges  shall  say  and  pronounce.  I  will  obey  your 
orders  in  everything."  Then  she  repeated  several  times : 
"  Since  the  men  of  the  church  decide  that  my  apparitions 
and  revelations  are  neither  sustainable  nor  credible,  I 
do  not  wish  to  believe  nor  sustain  them.  I  yield  in  every- 
thing to  you  and  to  our  holy  mother  Church." 

This  submission  had  been  provided  for  by  the  manager 
of  the  trial.  He  at  once  produced  a  formal  recantation 
and  abjuration,  which  she  was  required  to  sign.  "  1  can 
neither  read  nor  write,"  she  said.  The  king's  secretary 
placed  the  document  before  her,  put  a  pen  in  her  hand, 
and  guided  it  while  she  wrote  "  Jehanne,"  and  appended 
the  sign  of  the  cross. 

The  bishop  Ihen  produced  another  sentence  which  had 


478  THE    TRIAL    OF    JEANNE    DARC. 

been  prepared  beforehand  in  view  of  her  possible  abjura- 
tion. This  document,  after  recounting  her  errors  and  her 
submission,  relieved  her  from  excommunication,  and 
urged  her  to  a  true  repentance  ;  but  it  ended  with  a  few 
words  of  crushing  import  to  such  a  spirit:  "  Since  you 
have  rashly  sinned  against  God  and  holy  Church,  finally, 
definitively,  we  condemn  you  to  perpetual  imprisonment, 
with  the  bread  of  grief  and  the  water  of  anguish,  to  the 
end  that  you  may  mourn  your  faults  and  commit  no 
more."  Then  she  was  conveyed  to  the  castle.  That 
afternoon,  in  the  presence  of  six  or  seven  ecclesiastics, 
after  exhortation,  she  took  off  her  man's  dress  with 
apparent  willingness,  and  put  on  that  of  a  woman.  She 
also  allowed  some  locks  of  hair,  which  she  had  worn 
hitherto  in  the  fashion  of  men,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
away. 

And  thus,  on  that  Thursday  afternoon,  May  24th,  exactly 
one  year  after  her  capture,  in  the  sixth  month  of  her 
confinement  in  the  castle,  and  fourth  of  her  public  trial, 
she  found  herself  still  in  prison,  chained  as  before, 
guarded  as  before  by  men,  and  deprived  of  the  one  solace 
that  captives  know — hope.  She  had  saved  her  life,  but 
not  regained  her  darling  liberty.  She  was  not  in  the 
field.  She  was  a  captive,  shorn,  despoiled,  degraded, 
hopeless,  lacerated  by  fetters,  and  weighed  down  by  heavy 
chains,  with  men  always  in  her  cell,  and  liable  every  hour 
to  the  taunts  of  hostile  and  contemptuous  visitors. 

She  bore  it  Friday,  Saturday,  Sunday.  When  she  rose 
on  Monday  morning,  she  put  on  her  man's  dress.  The 
bishop  and  several  other  members  of  the  court  arrived 
but  too  soon  ;  for  this  was  welcome  news  to  the  English 
party.  They  asked  her  why  she  had  resumed  that  dress. 
"  Because,"  said  she,  "  being  with  men,  it  is  more  decent. 
I  have  resumed  it,  too,  because  you  have  not  kept  your 
promises  that  I  should  hear  mass,  and  receive  my  Saviour, 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  479 

and  have  my  irons  taken  off.  I  prefer  to  die  than  be  in 
irons.  Let  me  go  to  mass,  take  off  my  chains,  put  me 
in  a  proper  prison,  let  me  have  a  woman  for  companion, 
and  then  I  will  be  good,  and  do  what  the  Church  desires." 
They  asked  her  if  her  voices  had  revisited  her,  if  she 
still  believed  that  they  were  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Mar- 
garet, if  she  adhered  to  what  she  had  said  with  regard  to 
the  crown  given  to  her  king  by  St.  Michael.  To  all  such 
questions  she  replied  bluntly  in  the  affirmative,  as  if  court- 
ing death.  "  All  that  I  revoked  and  declared  on  the 
scaffold,"  said  she,  "  I  did  through  fear  of  the  fire.  I 
prefer  to  die  than  endure  longer  the  pain  of  imprison- 
ment. Never  have  I  done  anything  against  God  or  the 
faith.  I  did  not  understand  what  was  in  the  act  of 
abjuration.  If  the  judges  desire  it,  I  will  wear  woman's 
dress  ;  beyond  that  I  will  yield  nothing." 

To  reassemble  the  court,  and  bring  this  erring,  tor- 
tured, devoted  child  to  the  stake,  required  but  two  days. 
On  Wednesday  morning,  May  30, 1431,  there  was  another 
open-air  session  of  the  court,  in  a  market-place  of  Rouen, 
where  there  was  erected  a]  datform  of  another  kind  for  the 
prisoner.  On  that  last  morning  of  her  life  her  demeanor 
was  not  stoical  nor  histrionic,  but  simply  human — the 
demeanor  of  a  terrified  girl  of  nineteen  who  was  nerving 
herself  to  a  frightful  ordeal  which  she  herself  had  chosen. 

She  bewailed  her  fate  with  cries  and  sobs.  They  gave 
her  a  priest  to  hear  her  in  confession,  after  which  the 
sacrament  was  brought  to  her  by  the  usual  procession  of 
priests  chanting  a  litany,  and  bearing  many  candles.  She 
received  it  "  very  devoutly,  and  with  a  great  abundance 
of  tears,"  and  passed  her  remaining  time  in  prayer.  The 
same  cart  conveyed  her  to  the  market-place,  guarded  by 
"  a  hundred  and  twenty  "  English  men-at-arms.  Another 
sermon  was  preached,  upon  the  text,  "  If  one  member 
suffer,  the  other  members  suffer  also."     The  bishop  then 


480  THE  TRIAL   OF  JEANNE   DARC. 

read  a  long  sentence,  of  which  a  few  words  are  given  at 
the  beginning  of  this  article,  which  he  ended  by  handing 
her  over  to  the  secular  arm.  The  members  of  the  court 
departed,  and  then,  without  any  other  legal  formality,  she 
was  bound  to  the  stake  and  burned.  Tradition  gives  us 
many  particulars  of  her  last  moments,  but  as  they  were 
not  gathered  till  1456,  twenty-live  years  after  her  ashes 
were  thrown  into  the  Seine,  we  must  receive  them  with 
caution.  It  is  credible  enough  that  she  died  embracing  a 
cross,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  another  cross  held  up 
before  her  by  a  sympathizing  priest.  In  1456,  the  period 
of  her  "  rehabilitation,"  that  man  was  accounted  happy 
who  had  something  pleasing  or  glorious  to  tell  of  the 
Maid  whom  France  then  revered  as  a  deliverer. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  the  importance  attached 
to  this  trial  at  the  time.  The  English  government,  by  a 
long  circular  letter,  notified  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe 
of  the  result  of  the  trial,  and  gave  them  an  outline  of 
the  proceedings.  The  University  at  Paris  sent  a  par- 
ticular account  of  the  trial  to  the  Pope,  to  the  cardinals, 
and  to  the  chief  prelates  of  Christendom.  But  five  years 
later  Paris  surrendered  to  the  King  of  France,  and 
twenty-five  years  later  Normandy  itself  owned  allegiance 
to  Charles  VII. 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


XXXVIII. 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 

■■  ~T  FOW  I  detest  benevolent  people!"  Sydney  Smith 
,  1  1  is  reported  to  have  said,  on  looking  up  from  a 
book  he  had  been  reading. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  his  daughter. 

"Because  they  are  so  cruel,"  was  his  reply. 

I  was  reminded  of  this  anecdote  upon  looking  over  a 
book  lately  published,  entitled  "Harriet  Martineau' s  Auto- 
biography," which  is  full  of  the  personal  gossip  that  amuses 
readers,  but  gives  extreme  pain  to  large  numbers  of  worthy 
persons  who  cannot  possibly  set  themselves  right  with  the 
public  by  correcting  the  misconceptions  of  a  writer  no 
longer  among  the  living.  Miss  Martineau  was,  doubt- 
less, a  lady  who  strongly  desired  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind, and  who  had  some  correct  ideas  of  the  manner 
in  which  human  happiness  is  to  be  promoted.  She  ren- 
dered much  good  service  in  her  day  and  generation,  but 
she  left  this  book  to  be  published  after  her  death,  which 
is  unjust  to  almost  every  individual  named  in  it,  and, 
most  of  all,  unjust  to  herself. 

And  the  worst  of  it  is,  no  effective  answer  can  be  made 
to  it.  The  gifted  family  of  the  Kembles,  for  example,  and 
particularly  Mrs.  Kemble,a  lady  still  living,  with  children 
and  other  relations,  are  held  up  to  the  contempt  of  man- 
kind as  vain,  vulgar,  and  false.  Perhaps  the  Kembles 
thought  Miss  Martineau  vain,  vulgar,  and  false ;  but 
they  have  not  had  the  indecency  to  tell  the  public  so. 
Macaulay,  Miss  Martineau  tells  us,  had  "no  heart,"  and 

(483) 


484  HARRIET   MARTINEAU. 

his  nephew,  Trevelyan,  "  no  head."  Lord  Althorp  was 
"one  of  nature's  graziers;"  Lord  Brougham  was  a  creat- 
ure obscene  and  treacherous ;  Earl  Russell  and  the  whole 
Whig  party  were  a  set  of  conceited  incapables;  Thack- 
eray, the  satirist  of  snobs,  was  himself  a  snob;  N.  P. 
Willis,  a  lying  dandy;  Eastlake  an  artist  of  "limited" 
understanding;  and  so  she  deals  out  her  terrible  gossip, 
which  might  have  been  harmless  enough  spoken  at  a  tea- 
table  to  a  confidential  friend,  but  was  not  proper  to  be 
printed  during  the  lifetime  of  the  individuals  named,  nor 
during  the  lifetime  of  their  immediate  descendants. 

Things  go  by  contraries  in  this  world.  We  often  find 
high  Tories  who,  in  their  practical  dealings  with  their 
fellow-men, are  perfectly  democratic;  and  it  is  well  known 
that  some  of  the  most  positive  democrats  this  country  has 
ever  produced  have  been,  in  their  personal  demeanor, 
haughty  and  inhuman.  It  is  much  the  same  with  philan- 
thropists and  misanthropists.  A  person  may  snarl  at 
mankind  in  a  book  and  be  the  soul  of  kindness  in  his 
own  circle,  and  he  may  deluge  the  world  with  benevolent 
"gush,"  without  having  learned  to  be  agreeable  or  good- 
tempered  in  his  own  home. 

Miss  Martineau,  however,  has  been  to  no  one  so  unjust 
as  to  herself ;  for  she  has  not  had  the  art  to  make  her 
readers  feel  and  realize  the  disadvantages  under  which 
she  labored.  She  was  deaf;  she  had  no  sense  of  smell, 
and  only  a  very  imperfect  sense  of  taste.  She  could  hear, 
it  is  true,  by  the  aid  of  a  trumpet,  but  she  was  cut  off 
from  all  that  higher,  easier,  constant  intercourse  with  her 
kind  which  people  enjoy  who  rarely  know  what  silence  is, 
and  who  hear  human  speech  of  some  kind  at  almost  every 
moment  when  they  are  awake.  And  she  had  a  childhood 
which  disarms  censure.  During  the  first  thirty  years  of 
her  life,  she  scarcely  enjoyed  one  day  of  health  or  peace, 
all  in  consequence  of  her  mother's  neglect.     The  child, 


HARRIET   MARTINEAU.  485 

soon  after  it  was  born,  was  sent  out  of  the  way  to  a  wet- 
nurse  in  the  country,  who  nearly  starved  her  to  death, 
having  an  insufficiency  of  milk,  and  being  unwilling  to 
lose  the  charge  of  the  child  by  telling  the  truth.  Her 
deafness  and  her  bad  health  during  the  first  third  of  her 
life  were  always  ascribed  by  her  mother  to  this  starva- 
tion. 

The  story  of  her  childhood  is  almost  incomprehensible 
to  American  parents,  who  are  apt  to  watch  their  children 
with  even  an  excessive  care  and  tenderness.  Her  parents 
seemed  never  to  have  suspected  what  she  suffered,  nor 
did  she  ever  have  confidence  enough  in  them  to  attempt 
to  make  known  to  them  her  miseries.  Milk,  for  example, 
always  disagreed  with  her,  and  to  such  a  degree  that  she 
had  "a  horrid  lump  at  her  throat  for  hours  every  morn- 
ing, and  the  most  terrible  oppression  in  the  night." 
Nevertheless,  as  English  children  are  always  fed  upon 
milk,  she  continued  to  drink  it  morning  and  night,  with- 
out mentioning  her  sufferings,  until  she  was  old  enough 
to  drink  tea,  which,  in  England,  is  usually  about  the  six- 
teenth year.  How  amazing  is  this !  On  what  strange 
terms  children  must  live  with  their  elders  where  such  a 
thing  could  be! 

During  all  her  childhood  she  was  tormented  by  fear 
and  shame.  She  was  afraid  of  everything  and  everybody. 
Sometimes,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  would  be  panic- 
stricken,  and  feel  sure  she  could  never  get  down.  In 
going  a  few  steps  into  the  garden  she  would  be  afraid  to 
look  behind  her,  dreading  an  imaginary  wild  beast.  She 
was  afraid  of  the  star-lighted  sky,  having  an  awful  dread 
of  its  coming  down  upon  her,  crushing  her,  and  remaining 
upon  her  head.  She  was  afraid  of  persons,  and  declares 
that,  to  the  best  of  her  belief,  she  never  met  with  an 
individual  whom  she  was  not  afraid  of  until  she  was  six- 
teen years  of  age.     The  exhibition  of  a  magic  lantern  was 


486  HARRIET   MARTINEAU. 

awful  to  her,  and  she  was  terrified  beyond  measure  by 
seeing  the  prismatic  colors  in  the  glass  drops  of  a  chande- 
lier. There  were  certain  individuals  whom  she  met 
occasionally  in  the  town,  of  whom  she  knew  nothing, 
neither  their  name  nor  their  occupation,  and  yet  she  could 
never  sec  them  without  experiencing  the  most  intense 
fear.  At  the  same  time  she  was  bitterly  ashamed  of  this 
weakness,  and  seems  never  to  have  thought  of  mentioning 
it  to  a  living  creature,  least  of  all  to  her  mother  and 
sisters.  For  a  long  course  of  years — from  about  eight  to 
fourteen — she  tried  with  all  her  might  to  pass  a  day 
without  crying. 

"  I  was  a  persevering  child,"  she  says,  "  and  I  knew  I 
tried  hard ;  but  I  failed.  I  gave  up  at  last,  and  during 
all  those  years  I  never  did  pass  a  day  without  crying." 

She  thinks  her  temper  must  have  been  "  excessively 
bad,"  and  that  she  was  "  an  insufferable  child  for  gloom, 
obstinacy,  and  crossness."  But  she  also  thought  that  if 
her  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  had  shown  ever  so 
little  sympathy  with  her  unhappiness,  she  should  have 
responded  with  joyous  alacrity.  When  her  hearing  began 
to  grow  dull,  it  did  not  excite  sympathy  in  the  family, 
but  distrust  and  contempt.  She  would  be  told  that  "  none 
are  so  deaf  as  they  who  do  not  wish  to  hear ;  "  and  when 
it  could  no  longer  be  doubted  that  she  was  growing  deaf, 
the  best  help  she  got  was  from  her  brother,  who  told  her 
that  he  hoped  she  would  never  make  herself  troublesome 
to  other  people.  What  a  delightful  family  !  Such  treat- 
ment, however,  had  one  good  effect :  she  made  up  her 
mind,  and  she  kept  her  resolution,  never  to  make  her 
deafness  a  burthen  to  others.  She  never  asked  any  one 
to  repeat  a  remark  in  company  which  she  had  not  caught, 
and  always  trusted  her  friends  to  tell  her  what  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  know. 

During  the  generation  which   saw  the  beginning  and 


HARRIET   MARTINEAU.  487 

the  end  of  Napoleon's  career,  a  kind  of  savageness  seems 
to  have  pervaded  human  life.  All  Europe  was  fighting ; 
school-boys  were  encouraged  and  expected  to  fight,  and 
the  softer  feelings  of  our  nature  were  undervalued  or 
despised.  Bonaparte  made  life  harder  for  almost  every 
one  in  the  civilized  world  ;  and  this  may  partly  explain 
how  an  intelligent,  virtuous,  and  even  benevolent  family 
could  have  lived  together  in  a  manner  which  seems  to  us 
heartless  and  savage. 

Her  parents  gave  her  an  excellent  education.  She 
could  make  shirts  and  puddings  ;  she  could  iron  and 
mend;  she  acquired  all  household  arts,  as  girls  did  in 
those  days  ;  but  at  the  same  time  she  became  a  considera- 
ble proficient  in  languages  and  science,  and  very  early 
began  to  show  an  inclination  to  composition.  The  circum- 
stance which  made  her  a  professional  writer  was  interest- 
ing. She  had  secretly  sent  an  article  to  a  monthly 
magazine,  and  a  few  days  after,  as  she  was  sitting  after 
tea  in  her  brother's  parlor,  he  said : 

"  Come  now,  we  have  had  plenty  of  talk ;  I  will  read 
you  something." 

He  took  the  very  magazine  that  contained  her  contri- 
bution, and  opening  it  at  her  article  he  glanced  at  it, 
and  said: 

"  They  have  got  a  new  hand  here.     Listen." 

He  read  a  few  lines,  and  then  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah  !  This  is  a  new  hand  ;  they  have  had  nothing  as 
good  as  this  for  a  long  while." 

He  kept  bursting  out  with  exclamations  of  approval  as 
he  continued  to  read,  until,  at  length,  observing  her 
silence,  he  said : 

"  Harriet,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  never  knew 
you  so  slow  to  praise  anything  before." 

She  replied  in  utter  confusion  : 

"  I  never  could  baffle  anybody.  The  truth  is,  that 
paper  is  mine." 


488  HARRIET   MARTINEAU. 

Her  brother  said  nothing-,  but  finished  the  article  in 
silence,  and  spoke  no  more  until  she  rose  to  go  home. 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a 
serious  tone : 

"  Now,  dear  "  (he  had  never  called  her  dear  before), 
"  now,  dear,  leave  it  to  other  women  to  make  shirts  and 
darn  stockings,  and  do  you  devote  yourself  to  this." 

And  so  she  did.  With  immense  perseverance,  and 
after  encountering  every  sort  of  discouragement,  she 
reached  the  public  ear,  by  writing  stories  in  illustration 
of  the  truths  of  political  economy.  For  a  time  she  was 
the  most  popular  story-writer  in  England,  and  the  aid  of 
her  pen  was  sought  by  cabinet  ministers,  as  well  as  by 
the  conductors  of  almost  every  important  periodical.  She 
was  so  good  and  useful  a  woman,  that  we  must  forgive 
whatever  mistakes  of  judgment  and  temper  we  may  lament 
in  her  autobiography.  She  loved  America  almost  as 
though  she  had  been  born  upon  its  soil,  and  Americans 
must   take  her  censures  in  good  part. 

During  her  residence  in  the  United  States,  she  sacrificed 
her  popularity,  and  even  risked  her  personal  safety,  by 
openly  espousing  the  cause  of  the  detested  abolitionists. 
At  one  of  their  meetings  in  Boston,  in  1835,  to  attend 
which  she  braved  the  fury  of  a  mob,  she  deliberately,  and 
with  full  knowledge  of  what  her  action  involved,  spoke 
in  defence  of  their  principles.  Her  own  narrative  of  the 
event,  as  given  in  her  Autobiography,  is  of  singular 
interest : 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  proceedings  of  the  meeting,  a 
note  was  handed  to  me  written  in  pencil  on  the  back  of 
the  hymn  which  the  party  were  singing.  It  was  from 
Mr.  Loring,  and  these  were  his  words : 

"  •  Knowing  your  opinions,  I  just  ask  you  whether  you 
would  object  to  give  a  word  of  sympathy  to  those  who 
are  suffering  here  for  what  you  have  advocated  elsewhere. 
It  would  afford  great  comfort.' 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU.  489 

"  The  moment  of  reading  this  note  was  one  of  the 
most  painful  of  my  life.  I  felt  that  I  could  never  be 
happy  again  if  I  refused  what  was  asked  of  me ;  but  to 
comply  was  probably  to  shut  against  me  every  door  in 
the  United  States  but  those  of  the  Abolitionists.  I 
should  no  more  see  persons  and  things  as  they  ordinarily 
were.  I  should  have  no  more  comfort  or  pleasure  in  my 
travels ;  and  my  very  life  would  be,  like  other  people's, 
endangered  by  an  avowal  of  the  kind  desired.  George 
Thompson  was  then  on  the  sea,  having  narrowly  escaped 
with  his  life,  and  the  fury  against  '  foreign  incendiaries  ' 
ran  high.  Houses  had  been  sacked ;  children  had  been 
carried  through  the  snow  from  their  beds  at  midnight ; 
travelers  had  been  lynched  in  the  market-places,  as  well 
as  in  the  woods ;  and  there  was  no  safety  for  any  one, 
native  or  foreign,  who  did  what  I  was  now  compelled  to 
do.  Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  was  considering  how 
the  word  of  sympathy  should  be  given,  when  Mrs.  Loring 
came  up,  with  an  easy  and  smiling  countenance,  and  said  : 

" '  You  have  had  my  husband's  note.  He  hopes  you 
will  do  as  he  says;  but  you  must  please  yourself,  of 
course.' 

"  I  said,  '  No ;  it  is  a  case  in  which  there  is  no  choice.' 

"  '  Oh,  pray  do  not  do  it  unless  you  like  it.  You  must 
do  as  you  think  right.' 

"  <  Yes,'  said  I,  '  I  must.' 

"  At  first,  out  of  pure  shyness,  I  requested  the  president 
to  say  a  few  words  for  me ;  but,  presently,  remembering 
the  importance  of  the  occasion  and  the  difficulty  of  set- 
ting right  any  mistake  the  president  might  fall  into,  I 
agreed  to  that  lady's  request,  that  I  should  speak  for 
myself.  Having  risen,  therefore,  with  his  note  in  my 
hand,  and  being  introduced  to  the  meeting,  I  said,  as  was 
precisely  recorded  at  the  time,  what  follows : 

" '  I  have  been  requested  by  a  friend  present  to  say 
something — if  only  a  word — to  express  my  sympathy  in 


490  HARRIET    MARTINEAU. 

the  objects  of  this  meeting.  I  had  supposed  that  my 
presence  here  would  be  understood  as  showing  my  sym- 
pathy with  you.  But  as  I  am  requested  to  speak,  I  will 
say  what  I  have  said  through  the  whole  South,  in  every 
family  where  I  have  been ;  that  I  consider  slavery  as 
inconsistent  with  the  law  of  God  and  as  incompatible 
with  the  law  of  his  Providence.  I  should  certainly  say 
no  less  at  the  North  than  at  the  South  concerning  this 
utter  abomination,  and  I  now  declare  that  in  your  princi- 
ples I  fully  agree.' " 

"  As  I  concluded,  Mrs.  Chapman  bowed  down  her  glow- 
ing head  on  her  folded  arms,  and  there  was  a  murmur  of 
satisfaction  through  the  room,  while,  outside,  the  growing 
crowd  (which  did  not,  however,  become  large)  was  hoot- 
ing and  yelling,  and  throwing  mud  and  dust  against  the 
windows." 

It  was  bravely  done.  Happily,  the  present  generation 
can  form  but  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  sacrifice  she  made 
in  taking  sides  with  a  party  then  held  in  equal  abhorrence 
and  contempt.  Several  days  passed  before  this  action  of 
Miss  Martineau  was  known  to  the  public.  Gradually, 
however,  it  circulated,  and,  at  length,  the  little  speech 
itself  was  printed  verbatim  in  a  report  of  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Society.  Precisely  that  happened  which  Miss 
Martineau  had  anticipated.  Every  door  was  closed 
against  her,  except  those  of  the  Abolitionists.  No  more 
invitations  littered  her  table.  She  was  a  lion  no  longer. 
Houses  where  she  was  known  to  be  staying  were  avoided, 
as  though  they  had  shown  to  the  passer-by  the  warning 
signal  of  contagion.  The  Boston  Advertiser  opened  upon 
her  its  provincial  thunder,  and  Boston  society  shuddered 
at  the  awful  fate  which  the  brave  woman  had  brought 
upon  herself.  The  press  in  general  denounced  her,  and 
even  some  of  the  Abolitionists  felt  that,  being  a  stranger, 
she  need  not  have  incurred  this  obloquy. 

Miss  Martineau's  tranquility  was  not  for  a  moment 


HARRIET   MARTINEAU.  491 

disturbed,  and  she  was  glad  that,  in  so  critical  a  moment, 
she  had  been  able  to  preserve  her  self-respect. 

During  the  greater  part  of  her  mature  life  she  felt  her- 
self compelled  to  embrace  the  unpopular  side  of  most  of 
the  questions  which  deeply  stirred  the  human  mind.  For 
some  years  she  retained  the  faith  of  her  parents,  which 
was  the  Unitarian  ;  but,  as  her  intelligence  matured,  she 
found  the  beliefs  and  usages  of  that  sect  less  and  less 
satisfactory,  until  she  reached  the  settled  conviction  that 
all  the  creeds  and  religions  of  the  earth  were  of  purely 
human  origin.  She  rejected  the  idea  of  a  personal  deity, 
and  regarded  the  belief  in  immortality  as  an  injurious 
delusion.  It  is  a  proof,  at  once,  of  the  profound  excel- 
lence of  her  character  and  the  advanced  catholicity  of 
her  generation,  that  these  opinions,  which  she  never  con- 
cealed and  never  obtruded,  estranged  none  of  her  friends, 
even  those  of  the  most  pronounced  orthodoxy.  Miss 
Florence  Nightingale,  for  example,  a  devoted  member  of 
the  Church  of  England,  wrote,  on  hearing  of  her  death  : 

"  The  shock  of  your  tidings  to  me,  of  course,  was 
great ;  but,  0,  I  feel  how  delightful  the  surprise  to  her ! 
How  much  she  must  know  now !  How  much  she  must 
have  enjoyed  already  !  I  do  not  know  what  your  opinions 
are  about  this ;  I  know  what  hers  were,  and  for  a  long 
time,  I  have  thought  how  great  will  be  the  surprise  to  her 
— a  glorious  surprise !  She  served  the  Right,  that  is, 
God,  all  her  life." 

In  a  similar  strain  wrote  other  friends,  who  were 
believers  in  immortal  life.  Miss  Martineau  died  at  her 
own  house  at  Ambleside,  in  1876,  aged  seventy-four  years. 
She  expressed  the  secret  of  her  life  in  a  sentence  of  her 
Autobiography. 

"  The  real  and  justifiable  and  honorable  subject  of 
interest   to    human    beings,   living    and   dying,   is   the 

WELFARE    OF     THEIR     FELLOWS,    SUlTOUllding    01"    Surviving 

them." 


492 


HARRIET    MARTI NEAU. 


For  twenty  years  after  she  had  written  her  autobiography 
in  momentary  expectation  of  death,  she  continued  to  live 
and  work  for  the  welfare  of  her  fellows.  In  her  own  words, 
"  Literature,  though  a  precious  luxury,  was  not,  and  never 
had  been,  the  daily  bread  of  her  life.  She  felt  that  she 
could  not  be  happy,  or  in  the  best  way  useful,  if  the  declin- 
ing years  of  her  life  were  spent  in  lodgings  in  the  morning 
and  drawing-rooms  in  the  evening.  A  quiet  home  of  her 
own,  and  some  few  dependent  on  her  for  their  domestic 
welfare,  she  believed  to  be  essential  to  every  true  woman's 
peace  of  mind  ;  and  she  chose  her  plan  of  life  accordingly." 
She  lived  in  the  country,  built  a  house,  and  tried  her  hand 
successfully  on  a  farm  of  two  acres.  She  exerted  herself 
for  the  good  of  her  neighbors,  and  devised  schemes  to 
remedy  local  mischiefs.  Her  servants  found  in  her  a  friend 
as  well  as  a  mistress. 

Her  long  and  busy  life  bears  the  constant  impress  of  two 
leading  characteristics — industry  and  sincerity.  In  the 
brief  autobiographical  sketch,  left  to  be  published  in  the 
London  Daily  News,  to  which  she  had  contributed  alto- 
gether sixteen  hundred  important  articles,  she  gives  this 
curiously  candid  judgment  of  herself,  which  is  more  correct 
than  many  of  her  judgments  of  others :  "  Her  original 
power  was  nothing  more  than  was  due  to  earnestness  and 
intellectual  clearness  within  a  certain  range.  With  small 
imaginative  and  suggestive  powers,  and  therefore  nothing 
approaching  to  genius,  she  could  see  clearly  what  she  did 
see,  and  give  a  clear  expression  to  what  she  had  to  say.  In 
short,  she  could  popularize  while  she  could  neither  discover 
nor  invent." 

Her  infirmity  of  deafness  probably  enabled  her  to  accom- 
plish the  immense  amount  of  literary  work  which  she  did, 
since  it  withdrew  her  from  many  distinctions.  The  cheerful 
and  unobtrusive  spirit  with  which  she  bore  her  infirmity 
remains  an  example  and  encouragement  to  her  fellow- 
sufferers. 


HARRIET    MARTINEAU. 


493 


Her  years  of  lingering  illness  proved  a  time  of  quiet 
enjoyment  to  her,  being  soothed  by  family  and  social  love 
and  care  and  sympathy.  In  the  words  of  her  biographer, 
Mrs.  M.  W.  Chapman,  a  woman  of  kindred  spirit: 

"  If,  instead  of  dying  so  slowly,  she  had  died  as  she 
could  have  wished  and  thought  to  have  done,  without  delay, 
what  a  treasure  of  wise  counsels,  what  a  radiance  of  noble 
deeds,  what  a  spirit  of  love  and  of  power,  what  brave  vic- 
torious battle  to  the  latest  hour  for  all  things  good  and 
true,  had  been  lost  to  posterity !  What  an  example  of 
more  than  resignation,  of  that  ready,  glad  acceptance  of  a 
lingering  and  painful  death  which  made  the  sight  a  bless- 
ing to  every  witness,  had  been  lost  to  the  surviving  genera- 
tion." 

80 


XXXIX. 

THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 

THEY  have  in  Europe  a  mysterious  thing'  called  rank, 
which  exerts  a  powerful  spell  even  over  the  minds 
of   republicans,  who  neither  approve  nor  understand  it. 

We  saw  a  proof  of  its  power  when  the  Prince  of  Wales 
visited  New  York  some  years  ago.  He  was  neither  hand- 
some, nor  gifted,  nor  wise,  nor  learned,  nor  anything  else 
which,  according  to  the  imperfect  light  of  reason,  makes 
a  fair  claim  to  distinction.  But  how  we  crowded  to  catch 
a  sight  of  him !  In  all  my  varied  and  long  experience  of 
New  York  crowds  and  receptions,  I  never  saw  a  popular 
movement  that  went  down  quite  as  deep  as  that.  I  saw 
aged  ladies  sitting  in  chairs  upon  the  sidewalk  hour  after 
hour,  waiting  to  see  that  youth  go  by — ladies  whom  no 
other  pageant  would  have  drawn  from  their  homes. 
Almost  every  creature  that  could  walk  was  out  to  see  him. 

Mr.  Gladstone  is  fifty  times  the  man  the  Prince  of 
Wales  can  ever  be.  Mr.  Tennyson,  Mr.  Bright,  George 
Eliot,  Mr.  Darwin,  might  be  supposed  to  represent  Eng- 
land better  than  he.  But  all  of  these  eminent  persons  in 
a  coach  together  would  not  have  called  forth  a  tenth  part 
of  the  crowd  that  cheered  the  Prince  of  Wales  from  the 
Battery  to  Madison  Square.  There  is  a  mystery  in  this 
which  every  one  may  explain  according  to  his  ability ; 
but  the  fact  is  so  important  that  no  one  can  understand 
history  who  does  not  bear  it  in  mind. 

The  importance  of  Lafayette  in  the  Revolutionary  War 
was  chiefly  due  to  the  mighty  prestige  of  his  rank — not  his 

(494) 


THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE.  495 

rank  as  a  major-general,  but  his  imaginary,  intangible 
rank  as  marquis.  His  coming  here  in  1777,  a  young  man 
of  twenty,  was  an  event  which  interested  two  continents; 
and  it  was  only  his  rank  which  made  it  of  the  slightest 
significance.  The  sage  old  Franklin  knew  this  very  well 
when  he  consented  to  his  coming,  and  wrote  a  private 
note  to  General  Washington  suggesting  that  the  young 
nobleman  should  not  be  much  hazarded  in  battle,  but 
kept  rather  as  an  ornamental  appendage  to  the  cause. 
He  proved  indeed  to  be  a  young  man  of  real  merit— a 
brave,  zealous,  disinterested,  and  enterprising  soldier — one 
who  would  have  made  his  way  and  borne  an  honorable 
part  if  he  had  not  been  a  marquis.  But,  after  all,  his 
rank  served  the  cause  better  than  any  nameless  youth 
could  have  served  it. 

I  met  only  the  other  day  a  striking  illustration  of  this 
fact,  one  that  showed  the  potent  spell  which  his  mere 
rank  exerted  over  the  minds  of  the  Indians.  On  coming 
here  early  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  performed  a 
most  essential  service  which  only  a  French  noblemair 
could  have  rendered.  It  was  a  terrible  question  in  1777, 
which  side  the  Six  Nations  would  take  in  the  strife. 
These  tribes,  which  then  occupied  the  whole  of  central 
and  western  New  York,  being  united  in  one  confederacy, 
could  have  inflicted  enormous  damage  upon  the  frontier 
settlements  if  they  had  sided  against  Congress.  Lafayette 
went  among  them  ;  and  they,  too,  were  subject  to  the 
spell  of  his  rank,  which  is  indeed  most  powerful  over  bar- 
barous minds.  He  made  a  talk  to  them.  He  explained, 
as  far  as  he  could,  the  nature  of  the  controversy,  and  told 
them  that  their  old  friends,  the  French,  were  joined,  heart 
and  soul,  with  the  Americans,  against  their  old  enemies, 
the  English.  He  prevailed.  They  afterwards  admitted 
that  it  was  owing  to  his  advice,  and  especially  his  confi- 
dent prophecy  of  the  final  victory  of  the  Americans,  that 


49G  THE   WIFE   OF  LAFAYETTE. 

induced  so  large  a  portion  of  the  Six  Nations  to  remain 
neutral.  What  young  man  of  twenty,  unaided  by  rank 
and  title,  could  have  done  this  service  ? 

The  war  ended.  In  1784  the  marquis  returned  to 
America,  to  visit  General  Washington  and  his  old  com- 
rades. There  was  trouble  again  with  the  Six  Nations, 
owing  to  the  retention  by  the  British  of  seven  important 
frontier  posts,  Detroit,  Mackinaw,  Oswego,  Ogdensburgh, 
Niagara,  and  two  forts  on  Lake  Champlain.  Seeing  the 
British  flag  still  floating  over  these  places  confused  the 
Indian  mind,  made  them  doubt  the  success  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, and  disposed  them  to  continue  a  profitable  warfare. 
Congress  appointed  three  commissioners  to  hold  a  confer- 
ence with  them  at  Fort  Schuyler,  which  stood  upon  the 
site  of  the  modern  city  of  Rome,  about  a  hundred  miles 
west  of  Albany.  Once  more  the  United  States  availed 
themselves  of  the  influence  of  Lafayette's  rank  over  the 
Indians.  The  commissioners  invited  him  to  attend  the 
treaty. 

In  September,  1784,  James  Madison,  then  thirty-three 
years  of  age,  started  on  a  northward  tour,  and,  meeting 
the  marquis  in  Baltimore,  determined  to  go  with  him  to 
the  treaty  ground.  The  two  young  gentlemen  were  hero 
in  New  York  during  the  second  week  of  September,  and 
the  marquis  was  the  observed  of  all  observers.  Both  the 
young  gentlemen  were  undersized,  and  neither  of  them 
was  good-looking ;  but  the  presence  of  the  French  noble- 
man was  an  immense  event,  as  we  can  still  see  from  the 
newspapers  of  that  and  the  following  week.  After  enjoy- 
ing a  round  of  festive  attentions,  they  started  on  their 
way  up  the  Hudson  river  in  a  barge,  but  not  before  Mr. 
Madison  had  sent  off  to  the  American  minister  in  Paris 
(Mr.  Jefferson)  a  packet  of  New  York  papers  containing 
eulogistic  notices  of  Lafayette,  for  the  gratification  of 
the  French  people. 


THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE.  497 

They  arrived  at  Fort  Schuyler  in  due  time — the  mar- 
quis, Mr.  Madison,  the  three  commissioners,  and  other  per- 
sons of  note.  But  the  Indians  had  no  eyes  and  no  ears 
except  for  the  little  Frenchman,  twenty-seven  years  of 
age,  whom  they  called  Kayenlaa.  The  commissioners 
were  nothing  in  their  eyes,  and  although  they  did  not 
enjoy  their  insignificance,  they  submitted  to  it  with  good 
grace,  and  asked  the  Indians  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
Kayenlaa.  He  rose  to  speak,  and  soon  showed  himself  a 
master  of  the  Indian  style  of  oratory. 

"  In  selling  your  lands,"  said  he,  "  do  not  consult  the 
keg  of  rum,  and  give  them  away  to  the  first  adventurer." 

He  reminded  them  of  his  former  advice,  and  showed 
them  how  his  prophecies  had  come  true. 

"  My  predictions,"  said  he,  have  been  fulfilled.  Open 
your  ears  to  the  new  advice  of  your  father." 

He  urged  them  strongly  to  conclude  a  treaty  of  peace 
with  the  Americans,  and  thus  have  plenty  of  the  French 
articles  of  manufacture  of  which  they  used  to  be  so  fond. 
The  leader  of  the  war  party  was  a  young  chief,  equally 
famous  as  a  warrior  and  as  an  orator,  named  Red  Jacket, 
who  replied  to  Lafayette  in  the  most  impassioned  strain, 
calling  upon  his  tribe  to  continue  the  war.  It  was  thought, 
at  the  time,  that  no  appeals  to  the  reason  of  the  Indians 
could  have  neutralized  the  effect  of  Red  Jacket's  fiery 
eloquence.  It  was  the  spell  of  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette's 
rank  and  name  which  probably  enabled  the  commissioner 
to  come  to  terms  with  the  red  men. 

"  During  this  scene,"  reports  Mr.  Madison,  "and  even 
during  the  whole  stay  of  the  marquis,  he  was  the  only 
conspicuous  figure.  The  commissioners  were  eclipsed. 
All  of  them  probably  felt  it." 

The  chief  of  the  Oneida  tribe  admitted  on  this  occasion 
that  "  the  word  which  Lafayette  had  spoken  to  them  early 
in  the  war  had   prevented  them  from  being  led  to  the 


408  THE    WIFE    OF    LAFAYETTE. 

wrong  side  of  it."  Forty -one  years  after  this  memorable 
scene — that  is  to  say,  in  the  year  1825 — Lafayette  was  at 
Buffalo;  and  among  the  persons  who  called  upon  him 
was  an  aged  Indian  chief,  much  worn  by  time,  and  more 
by  strong  drink.  He  asked  the  marquis  if  he  remembered 
the  Indian  Council  at  Fort  Schuyler.  He  replied  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  it,  and  he  asked  the  Indian  if  he  knew 
what  had  become  of  the  young  chief  who  had  opposed 
with  such  burning  eloquence  the  burying  of  the  toma- 
hawk. 

"  He  is  before  you !  "  was  the  old  man's  reply. 

"  Time,"  said  the  marquis,  "has much  changed  us  both 
since  that  meeting." 

"Ah!"  rejoined  Red  Jacket;  "time  has  not  been  so 
hard  upon  you  as  it  has  upon  me.  It  has  left  to  you  a 
fresh  countenance  and  hair  to  cover  your  head  ;  while  to 
me — look  !  " 

Taking  a  handkerchief  from  his  head  he  showed  his 
baldness  with  a  sorrowful  countenance.  To  that  hour 
Red  Jacket  had  remained  an  enemy  to  everything  English, 
and  would  not  even  speak  the  language.  The  general, 
who  well  understood  the  art  of  pleasing,  humored  the  old 
man  so  far  as  to  speak  to  him  a  few  words  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  which  greatly  pleased  the  chief,  and  much 
increased  his  estimate  of  Lafayette's  abilities. 

Such  was  the  amazing  power  of  that  mysterious  old- 
world  rank  which  Lafayette  possessed.  Let  us  not  forget, 
however,  that  his  rank  would  have  been  of  small  use  to 
us  if  that  had  been  his  only  gift.  In  early  life  he  was 
noted  for  two  traits  of  character  ;  which,  however,  were 
not  very  uncommon  among  the  young  French  nobles  of 
the  period.  He  had  an  intense  desire  to  distinguish  him- 
self in  his  profession,  and  he  had  av  strong  inclination 
toward  Republican  principles.  He  tells  us  whence  ho 
derived  this  tendency.     At  the  age  of  nine  he  fell  in  with 


THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE.  499 

a  little  book  of  Letters  about  England,  written  by  Voltaire, 
which  gave  him  some  idea  of  a  free  country.  The  author 
of  the  Letters  dwelt  upon  the  freedom  of  thinking  and 
printing  that  prevailed  in  England,  and  described  the 
Exchange  at  London,  where  the  Jews  and  Christians, 
Catholics  and  Protestants,  Church  of  England  men  and 
Dissenters,  Quakers  and  Deists,  all  mingled  peacefully 
together  and  transacted  business  without  inquiring  into 
one  another's  creed.  The  author  mentioned  other  things 
of  the  same  nature,  which  were  very  strange  and  captivat- 
ing to  the  inhabitants  of  a  country  governed  so  despotic- 
ally as  France  was  when  Lafayette  was  a  boy. 

The  book  made  an  indelible  impression  upon  his  eager 
and  susceptible  mind.  He  used  to  say  in  after  years  that 
he  was  "  a  republican  at  nine."  He  was,  nevertheless,  a 
member  of  the  privileged  order  of  his  country,  and  if  he 
had  been  born  in  another  age  he  would  in  all  probability 
have  soon  outlived  the  romantic  sentiments  of  his  youth, 
and  run  the  career  usual  to  men  of  his  rank. 

In  the  summer  of  1776,  when  he  was  not  yet  quite 
nineteen,  he  was  stationed  with  his  regiment  at  Metz, 
then  a  garrisoned  town  near  the  eastern  frontier  of  France. 
An  English  prince,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  brother  to 
the  King  of  England,  visited  this  post  a  few  weeks  after 
Congress  at  Philadelphia  had  signed  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  French  general  in  command  at  Metz 
gave  a  dinner  to  the  prince,  to  which  several  officers  were 
invited,  Lafayette  among  the  rest.  It  so  happened  that 
the  prince  received  that  day  letters  from  England,  which 
contained  news  from  America. 

The  news  was  of  thrilling  interest :  Boston  lost — Inde- 
pendence declared — mighty  forces  gathering  to  crush  the 
rebellion — Washington,  victorious  in  New  England,  pre- 
paring to  defend  New  York!  News  was  slow  in  travel- 
ing then  ;  and  hence  it  was  that  our  young  soldier  now 


500  THE    WIFE    OF    LAFAYETTE. 

heard  these  details  for  the  first  time  at  the  table  of  his 
commanding  officer.  We  can  imagine  the  breathless 
interest  with  which  he  listened  to  the  story,  what  ques- 
tions he  asked,  and  how  he  gradually  drew  from  the  prince 
the  whole  interior  history  of  the  movement.  From  the 
5  idmissions  of  the  duke  himself,  he  drew  the  inference 
that  the  colonists  were  in  the  right.  He  saw  in  them  a 
people  fighting  in  defence  of  that  very  liberty  of  which 
he  had  read  in  the  English  Letters  of  Voltaire.  Before 
he  rose  from  the  table  that  day,  the  project  occurred  to 
his  mind  of  going  to  America,  and  offering  his  services 
to  the  American  people  in  their  struggle  for  Independence. 

"  My  heart,"  as  he  afterwards  wrote, "  espoused  warmly 
the  cause  of  liberty,  and  1  thought  of  nothing  but  of 
adding  also  the  aid  of  my  banner." 

And  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  completely 
he  was  fascinated  by  the  idea.  Knowing  well  how  such 
a  scheme  would  appear  to  his  prudent  relations,  he  deter- 
mined to  judge  this  matter  for  himself.  He  placed  a  new 
motto  on  his  coat-of-arms : 

Cur  non  ? 

This  is  Latin  for,  Why  not  ?  He  chose  those  words, 
he  says,  because  they  would  serve  equally  as  an  encour- 
agement to  himself  and  a  reply  to  others.  His  first  step 
was  to  go  on  leave  to  Paris,  where  Silas  Deane  was 
already  acting  as  the  representative  of  Congress,  secretly 
favored  by  the  French  ministry.  Upon  consulting  two  of 
his  young  friends,  he  found  them  enthusiastic  in  the  same 
cause,  and  abundantly  willing  to  go  with  him,  if  they 
could  command  the  means.  When,  however,  he  sub- 
mitted the  project  to  an  experienced  family  friend,  the 
Count  de  Broglie,  he  met  firm  opposition. 

"  I  have  seen  your  uncle,"  said  the  count,  "  die  in  the 
wars  of  Italy ;  I  witnessed  your  father's  death  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Minden,  and  I  will  not  be  accessory  to  the  ruin  of 
the  only  remaining  branch  of  the  family." 


THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE.  501 

He  tried  in  vain  to  dissuade  the  young i  man  from  a 
purpose  which  seemed  to  him  most  rash  and  chimerical. 
One  person  that  favored  his  purpose  was  his  beautiful 
young  wife,  already  the  mother  of  one  child  and  soon  to 
be  the  mother  of  a  second.  She,  with  the  spirit  and 
devotion  natural  to  a  French  lady  of  eighteen,  entered 
heartily  into  the  very  difficult  business  of  getting  off  her 
young  husband  to  win  glory  for  both  by  fighting  for  the 
American  insurgents. 

Anastasie  de  Noailles  was  her  maiden  name.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  house  which  had  eight  centuries  of 
recorded  history,  and  which,  in  each  of  these  centuries, 
had  given  to  France  soldiers  or  priests  of  national 
importance  and  European  renown.  The  chateau  of 
Noailles  (near  the  city  of  Toul),  portions  of  which  date 
as  far  back  as  A.  D.  1050,  was  the  cradle  of  the  race : 
and  to-day  in  Paris  there  is  a  Duke  de  Noailles,  and  a 
Marquis  de  Noailles,  descendants  of  that  Pierre  de 
Noailles  who  was  lord  of  the  old  chateau  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years  before  America  was  discovered. 

Old  as  her  family  was,  Mademoiselle  de  Noailles  was 
one  of  the  youngest  brides,  as  her  Marquis  was  one  of  the 
youngest  husbands.  An  American  company  would  have 
smiled  to  see  a  boy  of  sixteen  and  a  half  years  of  age, 
presenting  himself  at  the  altar  to  be  married  to  a  girl  of 
fourteen.  We  must  beware,  however,  of  sitting  in  judg- 
ment on  people  of  other  climes  and  other  times.  Lafay- 
ette was  a  great  match.  His  father  had  fallen  in  the 
battle  of  Minden,  when  the  boy  was  two  years  of  age, 
leaving  no  other  heir.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the 
officer  who  commanded  the  battery  from  which  the  ball 
was  fired  that  killed  Lafayette's  father,  was  the  same 
General  Phillips  with  whom  the  son  was  so  actively 
engaged  in  Virginia,  during  the  summer  of  1781. 

The   mother  of  our  marquis  died  ten  years  after  her 


502  THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE. 

husband.  Her  father,  a  nobleman  of  great  estate,  soon 
followed  her  to  the  grave,  and  so  this  boy  of  fourteen 
inherited  the  estates  of  two  important  families.  Madem- 
oiselle de  Noallies  had  great  rank  and  considerable  wealth. 
It  is  perhaps  safe  to  infer  that  she  was  not  remarkable 
for  beauty,  because  no  one  of  her  many  eulogists  claims  it 
for  her.  Nearly  all  marriages  among  the  nobility  were 
then  matters  of  bargain  and  interest,  mutual  love  having 
little  to  do  with  them  ;  yet  many  marriages  of  that  kind 
were  very  happy,  and  in  all  respects  satisfactory.  Lafay- 
ette's was  one  of  these.  The  pair  not  only  loved  one 
another  with  ardent  and  sustained  affection,  but  the  mar- 
riage united  the  two  families,  and  called  into  being 
numerous  children  and  grandchildren. 

Imagine  them  married  then,  in  April,  1774,  the  year  in 
which  the  Continental  Congress  met  at  Philadelphia. 

The  young  husband — officer  in  a  distinguished  regi- 
ment— was  not  much  at  home  during  the  first  two  years 
after  his  marriage ;  a  circumstance  which  was  probably 
conducive  to  the  happiness  of  both,  for  they  were  too 
young  to  be  satisfied  with  a  tranquil  domestic  life. 

One  day  in  the  summer  of  1776  he  returned  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  to  Paris.  His  wife  observed  that  some 
great  matter  possessed  his  mind.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  she  was  among  the  first  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  his  scheme  of  going  to  America  and  entering  the 
service  of  Congress.  A  married  girl  of  sixteen — the  very 
age  of  romance — she  sympathized  at  first  with  his  pur- 
pose, and  always  kept  his  secret.  Nine  months  of  excite- 
ment followed,  during  which  he  went  and  came  several 
times,  often  disappointed,  always  resolved  ;  until  at  length 
Madame  de  Lafayette  received  a  letter  from  him,  written 
on  board  the  ship  Victory,  that  was  to  convey  him  to 
America. 

This  was  in  April,  1777,  when  already  she  held  in  her 


THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE.  503 

arras  their  first  child,  the  baby  Henrietta,  who  died  while 
her  father  was  still  tossed  upon  the  ocean.  It  was  many 
months  after  his  landing  in  America  before  he  heard  of 
his  child's  death,  and  he  kept  writing  letter  after  letter  in 
which  he  begged  his  wife  to  kiss  for  him  the  infant  whose 
lips  were  cold  in  the  grave.  His  letters  to  her  during  his 
long  absences  in  America  were  full  of  affection  and  ten- 
derness. He  calls  her  his  life,  his  love,  and  his  dearest 
love.  In  the  first  letter  written  at  sea,  he  tries  once  more 
to  reconcile  her  to  his  departure. 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  you  could  know  all  that  I  have  suffered 
while  thus  flying  from  all  I  love  best  in  the  world  !  Must 
I  join  to  this  affliction  the  grief  of  hearing  that  you  do 
not  pardon  me  ?  " 

He  endeavored  to  convince  her  that  he  was  not  in  the 
least  danger  of  so  much  as  a  graze  from  a  British  bullet. 

"Ask  the  opinion,"  said  he,  "of  all  general  officers — 
and  these  are  very  numerous,  because  having  once 
obtained  that  height,  they  are  no  longer  exposed  to  any 
hazards." 

Then  he  turned  to  speak  of  herself  and  of  their  child. 

"  Henrietta,"  said  he,  "  is  so  delightful  that  she  has 
made  me  in  love  with  little  girls." 

And  then  he  prattled  on  with  a  happy  blending  of  good 
feeling  and  good  humor,  until  the  darkness  of  the  even- 
ing obliged  him  to  lay  aside  the  pen,  as  he  had  prudentby 
forbidden  the  lighting  of  candles  on  board  his  ship.  It 
was  easy  to  write  these  long  letters  in  the  cabin  of  his 
vessel,  but  it  was  by  no  means  easy  to  send  them  back 
across  the  ocean,  traversed  by  English  cruisers.  When 
Madame  de  Lafayette  received  this  letter  their  Henriette 
had  been  dead  for  nearly  a  year.  He  ran  his  career  in 
America.  He  was  domesticated  with  Gen.  Washington. 
He  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Brandy  wine.  He  passed 
the  memorable  winter  at  Valley  Forge. 


504  THE    WIFE    OF   LAFAYETTE. 

Iii  June,  1778,  thirteen  months  after  leaving  home,  a 
French  vessel  brought  to  America  the  news  of  the  French 
alliance,  and  to  Mm  that  of  the  death  of  his  Henriette, 
and  the  birth  of  his  second  daughter,  Anastasie.  There 
is  nothing  in  their  correspondence  prettier  than  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  speaks  to  her  of  his  wound. 

"  Whilst  endeavoring  to  rally  the  troops,"  he  tells  her, 
"  the  English  honored  me  with  a  musket-ball,  which 
slightly  wounded  me  in  the  leg — but  it  is  a  trifle,  my 
dearest  love ;  the  ball  touched  neither  bone  nor  nerve,  and 
I  have  escaped  with  the  obligation  of  lying  on  my  back 
for  some  time." 

In  October,  1778,  about  a  year  and  a  half  after  his 
departure,  Madame  de  Lafayette  enjoyed  the  transport  of 
welcoming  her  husband  home  on  a  leave  of  absence. 

Once,  during  the  spring  of  1778,  she  was  present  at  a 
party  at  a  great  house  in  Paris,  which  was  attended  by 
the  aged  Voltaire,  then  within  a  few  weeks  of  the  close 
of  his  life.  The  old  poet,  recognizing  her  among  the 
ladies,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  complimented  her  upon  the 
brilliant  and  wise  conduct  of  her  young  husband  in 
America.  She  received  this  act  of  homage  with  graceful 
modesty.  When  Lafayette  again  returned,  at  the  end  of 
the  war,  we  can  truly  say  he  was  the  most  shining  person- 
age  in  France.  At  court  the  young  couple  were  over- 
whelmed with  flattering  attentions,  and  the  king  promoted 
the  marquis  to  the  rank  of  field-marshal  of  the  French 
army.  During  the  next  seven  years,  Madame  de  Lafay- 
ette was  at  the  height  of  earthly  felicity.  Her  two 
daughters,  Anastasie  and  Virginie,  and  her  son,  George 
Washington,  were  affectionate  and  promising  children, 
and  there  seemed  nothing  wanting  to  her  lot  that  could 
render  it  happier  or  more  distinguished. 

Then  came  the  storm  of  the  French  Revolution.  Both 
husband  and  wife  were  cast  down  before  it.     While  ho 


THE    WIFE    OF   LAFAYETTE.  505 

was  immured  in  an  Austrian  dungeon,  she,  with  her  two 
daughters,  was  confined  in  one  of  the  prisons  of  Paris, 
along  with  other  gentle  victims  of  the  Terror.  Many  of 
her  friends  went  from  her  embrace  to  the  guillotine.  She, 
fortunately,  escaped  the  axe,  and,  a  few  months  after  the 
death  of  Robespierre,  she  was  released,  and  prepared  at 
once  to  penetrate  to  the  remote  fortress  in  which  her 
husband  was  confined.  She  sent  her  son  to  America,  con- 
signing him  to  the  care  of  President  Washington,  who 
accepted  the  trust,  and  superintended  the  education  of  the 
lad  with  the  affectionate  care  of  a  father.  The  mother 
and  her  daughters,  in  September,  1795,  set  out  for  Vienna, 
she  calling  herself  Mrs.  Motier,  and  giving  herself  out  as 
an  English  lady  traveling  in  disguise  to  escape  pursuit. 

Upon  reaching  Vienna  she  obtained  an  audience  of  the 
Emperor,  and  implored  her  husband's  release;  alleging 
truly  that  he  had  been  Marie  Antoinette's  best  friend  in 
France.  The  Emperor's  reply  was,  "My  hands  are  tied." 
He  refused  to  release  the  General,  but  permitted  Madame 
de  Lafayette  and  her  daughters  to  share  his  confinement. 
For  twenty-two  months  they  remained  in  prison  with  him, 
suffering  the  horrors  of  a  detention,  which  was  cruelly 
aggravated  by  superserviceable  underlings.  Anastasie, 
the  elder  daughter,  was  then  sixteen  years  of  age,  and 
Virginie  was  thirteen.  Though  they,  too,  were  subjected 
to  very  rigorous  treatment,  they  preserved  their  health 
and  cheerfulness.  The  mother  suffered  extremely,  and 
more  than  once  she  was  at  death's  door.  When,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1797,  the  doors  of  the  fortress  of  Olmutz  were 
opened,  she  could  scarcely  walk  to  the  carriage  which  bore 
them  to  liberty.  They  made  their  way  to  Hamburg,  where 
they  were  all  received  into  the  family  of  John  Parish,  the 
American  consul.  Mr.  Parish  afterwards  described  the 
scene : 

"An  immense  crowd  announced  their  arrival.  The 
streets  were  lined,  and  my  house  was   soon  filled  with 


506  THE   WIFE   OF   LAFAYETTE. 

people.  A  lane  was  formed  to  let  the  prisoners  pass  to 
my  room.  Lafayette  led  the  way,  and  was  followed  by 
his  infirm  lady  and  two  daughters.  He  flew  into  my 
arms;  his  wife  and  daughters  clung  to  me.  The  silence 
was  broken  by  an  exclamation  of, — 

"  'My  friend!  My  dearest  friend!  My  deliverer!  See 
the  work  of  your  generosity !  My  poor,  poor  wife,  hardly 
able  to  support  herself!' 

"And  indeed  she  was  not  standing,  but  hanging  on  my 
arm,  bathed  in  tears,  while  her  two  lovely  girls  had  hold 
of  the  other.     There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  room. 

"I  placed  her  on  a  sofa.  She  sobbed  and  wept  much, 
and  could  utter  but  few  words.  Again  the  Marquis  came 
to  my  arms,  his  heart  overflowing  with  gratitude.  I 
never  saw  a  man  in  such  complete  ecstasy  of  body  and 
mind." 

Madame  de  Lafayette  never  recovered  her  health.  She 
lived  ten  years  longer,  and  died  December  24,  1807, 
aged  forty-seven  years,  leaving  her  daughters  and  her  son 
happily  established.  An  American  who  visited,  twenty 
years  after,  the  Chateau  of  La  Grange,  which  was  the 
abode  of  General  Lafayette  during  the  last  forty  years 
of  his  life,  found  there  a  numerous  company  of  her 
descendants,  a  son,  two  daughters,  and  twelve  grand- 
children, forming  a  circle  which  he  described  in  glowing 
terms  of  admiration.  The  house  was  full  of  America. 
On  the  walls  were  portraits  of  Washington,  Franklin, 
Morris,  Adams,  Jefferson,  and  a  painting  of  the  siege  of 
Yorktown.  Objects  brought  from  America,  or  received 
thence  as  gifts,  were  seen  everywhere,  and  there  was  one 
room  containing  nothing  but  American  things,  which  the 
General  called  by  the  name  "America."  There  was  an 
American  ice-house  in  the  garden,  and  groves  of  American 
trees  in  the  park.  It  was  one  of  the  most  estimable  and 
happy  families  in  France.  Alas !  that  the  fond  mother 
and  the  devoted  wife  should  have  been  wanting  to  it. 


BETSEY  PATTERSON. 


XL. 

BETSY  PATTERSON,   OTHERWISE  MADAME   JEROME 
BONAPARTE,   OF  BALTIMORE. 

IN  the  spring  of  1766,  a  poor  boy  of  fourteen,  named 
William  Patterson,  from  the  north  of  Ireland,  landed 
at  Philadelphia.  He  was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer, 
a  Protestant,  one  of  that  conquering  Scotch-Irish  race 
which  has  contributed  so  many  distinguished  persons  to 
the  history  of  the  United  States.  The  boy  obtained  a 
place  in  the  counting-house  of  an  Irish  merchant  in  Phil- 
adelphia, and  served  him  with  singular  diligence  and 
fidelity.  He  acted  upon  the  principle  of  making  himself 
valuable  to  his  employer. 

At  twenty-one  he  was  in  business  as  a  merchant.  When 
he  had  been  established  about  two  years  the  American 
Revolution  broke  out,  threatening  to  put  a  stop  to  all 
business.  William  Patterson  availed  himself  of  the  crisis 
to  make  his  own  fortune,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  serve 
his  adopted  country.  He  loaded  two  small  vessels  with 
tobacco,  indigo,  and  other  American  products,  investing 
in  the  speculation  the  whole  of  his  small  capital,  and  sailed 
for  France.  Both  vessels  reached  France  in  safety.  He 
sold  the  cargoes,  invested  the  proceeds  in  warlike  stores, 
of  which  General  Washington  was  in  direst  need,  and 
set  sail  for  home.  On  the  way  he  touched  at  St.  Eustatius, 
an  island  of  the  Dutch  West  Indies,  then  a  place  of  great 
trade,  containing  about  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants. 
Seeing  his  chance,  he  remained  on  this  island,  and  sent 

his  vessels  to  Philadelphia. 

(509) 


)10  BETSY   PATTERSON. 

They  were  botli  so  lucky  as  to  escape  the  cruisers,  and 
to  arrive  in  March,  17^6,  when  the  army  had  scarcely 
powder  enough  to  conceal  from  the  enemy  that  they  were 
short  of  powder.  We  can  imagine  that  these  two  cargoes 
of  ammunition  were  welcome  enough,  and  sold  at  a  good 
price.  The  vessels  appear  to  have  returned  to  the  West 
Indies,  where  William  Patterson  remained  two  or  three 
years,  sending  supplies  home  as  best  he  could,  until  the 
alliance  with  France  put  an  end  to  the  scarcity  of  military 
stores.  He  then  prepared  to  return.  In  June,  1778,  he 
landed  in  Baltimore,  then  a  town  of  three  or  four  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  bringing  with  him,  in  gold  and  mer- 
chandise, a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  the  result  of  five 
years'  business. 

He  was  then  twenty-six  years  of  age.  Upon  looking  at 
Baltimore  with  the  eyes  of  a  long-headed  man  of  busi 
ness,  observing  its  situation,  and  perceiving  the  necessity 
of  its  becoming  one  of  the  first  cities  of  the  world,  he 
concluded  to  settle  there.  With  one  half  of  his  fortune 
he  bought  lots  and  lands  in  and  near  the  city,  as  Astor 
did  in  New  York  a  few  years  later.  With  the  other  half 
of  his  capital,  including  his  little  fleet  of  small  vessels, 
he  went  into  the  business  of  a  shipping  merchant. 

During  the  next  twenty  years  the  commerce  of  the 
infant  republic  had  a  most  rapid  development,  particularly 
while  supplying  the  warring  powers  of  Europe  with  provi- 
sions. William  Patterson  in  those  twenty  years  accumu- 
lated what  was  then  considered  an  immense  fortune. 
President  Jefferson,  in  1804,  spoke  of  him  as  probably 
the  richest  person  in  the  United  States  except  Charles 
Carrol  of  Carrollton,  who  inherited  lands  and  slaves.  His 
fortune,  too,  was  a  growing  one,  since  he  continued  to 
purchase  lands  near  the  city,  that  were  certain  to  rise  in 
value  with  the  increase  of  the  place. 

After  settling  in  Baltimore  he  married  a  young  lady 


BETSY   PATTERSON.  511 

named  Dorcas  Spear,  and  soon  became  a  family  man  of 
the  old-fashioned  type.  The  Scotch-Irish  have  the  family 
instinct  very  strong,  and  are  apt  to  center  all  their  hopes 
of  happiness  in  a  home.  He  was  a  man  of  quiet  and 
regular  habits ;  during  a  long  life  he  scarcely  ever  left 
Baltimore,  either  on  business  or  pleasure.  He  said  once, 
in  speaking  of  his  own  history,  that  ever  since  he  had 
had  a  house  of  his  own  it  had  been  his  invariable  rule  to 
be  up  last  at  night,  and  to  see  that  the  fires  and  lights 
were  in  a  safe  condition  before  going  to  bed.  Like  other 
rich  men,  he  served  as  bank  director  and  president,  and 
held  other  offices  of  a  similar  character  from  time  to 
time. 

The  most  fortunate  individuals  —  and  few  men  were 
more  fortunate  than  this  Baltimore  merchant  —  have 
their  share  of  trouble.  Calamity  came  to  him  in  the 
bewitching  guise  of  a  most  beautiful  daughter,  born  in  the 
early  years  of  his  wedded  life.  This  was  that  Elizabeth 
Patterson  Bonaparte,  whose  recent  death  at  the  age  of 
ninety-four  has  called  attention  anew  to  the  strange 
romance  of  her  early  life.  In  1803,  at  eighteen  years  of 
age,  she  was  the  pride  of  her  father's  home,  and  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Baltimore,  a  place  noted  then,  as  now,  for 
the  beauty  of  its  women.  If  the  early  portraits  of  her 
are  correct,  the  word  pretty  describes  her  very  well. 
There  was  a  girlish  and  simple  expression  in  her  counte- 
nance at  variance  with  her  character,  for,  with  all  her 
faults,  she  was  a  woman  of  force. 

In  the  fall  of  1803  this  Baltimore  beauty  attended  the 
races  near  the  city,  and  there  she  met  her  fate.  Jerome 
Bonaparte  of  the  French  navy,  Napoleon's  youngest 
brother  —  that  brother  whom  he  hoped  would  accomplish 
on  the  ocean  what  he  had  done  on  the  land  —  was  at  the 
races  that  day.  Napoleon  wanted  a  great  admiral  to 
cope  with  Nebon  and  conquer  the  British  navy,  and  he 

31 


.512  BETSY    PATTERSON. 

had  flattered  himself  that  this  favorite  brother  could  be 
the  man.  If  beauty  of  form  and  face  could  make  a  great 
commander,  Jerome  would  have  been  a  promising  candi- 
date ;  for  on  the  day  that  he  rode  out  to  the  Baltimore 
races  in  1803,  he  was  one  of  the  most  superb  looking 
«young  men  then  living. 

They  met !     All  the  world  knows  what  followed. 

William  Patterson,  with  his  sturdy  Scottish  sense,  per- 
ceived the  utter  incongruity  and  absurdity  of  such  a 
match.  He  opposed  it  by  every  means  in  his  power.  lie 
used  both  authority  and  persuasion.  He  sent  her  out  of 
town,  but  she  returned  more  infatuated  than  before.  At 
length,  discovering  that  both  of  them  were  set  upon  the 
marriage,  he  gave  a  reluctant  consent;  and  married  they 
were,  by  the  Roman  Catholic  bishop  of  Baltimore,  her 
father  taking  every  precaution  to  fulfill  all  the  forms 
which  the  laws  of  both  nations  required.  The  Bonaparte 
family,  with  one  exception,  approved  the  match,  and 
several  of  them  congratulated  the  newly  married  pair. 
That  one  exception  was  Napoleon,  the  head  of  the  family, 
First  Consul,  and  about  to  declare  himself  Emperor.  He 
refused  to  recognize  the  marriage.  When,  at  length, 
Jerome  stood  in  his  presence  to  plead  the  case  of  his 
young  and  lovely  wife,  who  was  about  to  become  a 
mother,  Napoleon  addressed  him  thus  : 

"  So,  sir,  you  are  the  first  of  the  family  who  has  shame- 
fully abandoned  his  post.  It  will  require  many  splendid 
actions  to  wipe  off  that  stain  from  your  reputation.  As 
to  your  love  affair  with  your  little  girl,  I  pay  no  regard 
to  it." 

And  he  never  did.  Jerome  had  the  baseness  to 
abandon  his  wife,  and  she  stooped  to  accept  from  Napo- 
leon an  income  of  twelve  thousand  dollars  a  year,  which 
was  paid  to  her  as  long  as  the  hand  of  that  coarse  soldier 
had  the  wasting  of  the  French  peoples'  earnings.     She 


BETSY    PATTERSON.  .        613 

came  back  to  Baltimore  with  her  child,  one  of  the  most 
wretched  of  women.  She  thought  that  marrying  into 
this  family  of  Corsican  robbers  had  elevated  her  in  "  rank  " 
above  her  wise  and  virtuous  father !  She  wrote  to  that 
father  many  years  after,  describing  her  feelings  at  this 
time. 

"  I  hated  and  loathed  a  residence  in  Baltimore  so  mucn, 
that  when  I  thought  I  was  to  spend  my  life  there,  I  tried 
to  screw  my  courage  up  to  the  point  of  committing 
suicide.  My  cowardice,  and  only  my  cowardice,  prevented 
my  exchanging  Baltimore  for  the  grave.  After  having 
married  a  person  of  the  high  rank  I  did,  it  became 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  bend  my  spirit  to  marry  any 
one  who  had  been  my  equal  before  my  marriage,  and  it 
became  impossible  for  me  ever  to  be  contented  in  a 
country  where  there  exists  no  nobility." 

She  never,  to  the  close  of  her  long  life  of  ninety-four 
years,  ceased  to  cherish  such  sentiments.  In  1849,  she 
wrote  from  Baltimore  to  the  celebrated  Irish  authoress, 
Lady  Morgan,  a  letter  in  which  she  gives  an  amusing 
revelation  of  her  interior  self. 

"  I  consider  it,"  she  wrote,  "  a  good  fortune  for  myself 
that  you  inhabit  London.  To  enjoy  again  your  agreeable 
society  will  be  my  tardy  compensation  for  the  long,  weary, 
unintellectual  years  inflicted  on  me  in  this  my  dull 
native  country,  to  which  I  have  never  owed  advantages, 
pleasures,  or  happiness.  I  owe  nothing  to  my  country ; 
no  one  expects  me  to  be  grateful  for  the  evil  chance  of 
having  been  born  here.  I  shall  emancipate  myself,  par 
la  grace  de  Dieu,  about  the  middle  of  July  next ;  and  I 
will  cither  write  to  you  before  I  leave  New  York,  or 
immediately  after  my  arrival  at  Liverpool. 

"  I  had  given  up  all  correspondence  with  my  friends  in 
Europe  during  my  vegetation  in  this  Baltimore.  What 
could  I  write  about  except  the  fluctuations  in  the  security 


514  BETSY    PATTERSON. 

and  consequent  prices  of  American  stocks.  There  is 
nothing  here  worth  attention  or  interest  save  the  money 
market.  Society,  conversation,  friendship,  belong  to  older 
countries,  and  are  not  yet  cultivated  in  any  part  of  the 
United  States  which  I  have  visited.  You  ought  to  thank 
your  stars  for  your  European  birth  ;  you  may  believe  me 
when  I  assure  you  that  it  is  only  distance  from  republics 
which  lends  enchantment  to  the  view  of  them.  I  hope 
that  about  the  middle  of  next  July  I  shall  begin  to  put 
the  Atlantic  between  the  advantages  and  honors  of 
democracy  and  myself.  France,  je  Vespere  dans  son 
interet,  is  in  a  state  of  transition,  and  Avill  not  let  her 
brilliant  society  be  put  under  an  extinguisher  nominee  la 
Rejntblique. 

"  The  emperor  hurled  me  back  on  what  I  most  hated 
on  earth — my  Baltimore  obscurity ;  even  that  shock  could 
not  divest  me  of  the  admiration  I  felt  for  his  genius  and 
glory.  I  have  ever  been  an  imperial  Bonapartiste  quand 
meme,  and  I  do  feel  enchanted  at  the  homage  paid  by 
six  millions  of  voices  to  his  memory,  in  voting  an  imperial 
president ;  le  prestige  du  nom  has,  therefore,  elected  the 
prince,  who  has  my  best  wishes,  my  most  ardent  hopes 
for  an  empire.  I  never  could  endure  universal  suffrage 
until  it  elected  the  nephew  of  an  emperor  for  the  chief  of 
a  republic  ;  and  I  shall  be  charmed  with  universal  suffrage 
once  more  if  it  insists  upon  their  president  of  France 
becoming  a  monarch.  I  am  disinterested  personally.  It 
is  not  my  desire  ever  to  return  to  France. 

"  My  dear  Lady  Morgan,  do  you  know  that,  having  been 
cheated  out  of  the  fortune  which  I  ought  to  have  inherited 
from  my  late  rich  and  unjust  parent,  I  have  only  ten 
thousand  dollars,  or  two  thousand  pounds  English,  which 
conveniently  I  can  disburse  annually.  You  talk  of  my 
'  princely  income,'  which  convinces  me  that  you  are 
ignorant  of  the  paucity  of  my  means.     I  have  all  my  life 


BETSY    PATTERSON. 


515 


had  poverty  to  contend  with,  pecuniary  difficulties  to 
torture  and  mortify  me ;  and  but  for  my  industry  and 
energy,  and  my  determination  to  conquer  at  least  a  decent 
sufficiency  to  live  on  in  Europe,  I  might  have  remained  as 
poor  as  you  saw  me  in  the  year  1816." 

She  speaks  in  this  strange  letter  of  having  been  dis- 
inherited by  her  father.  This  was  not  quite  true,  although 
the  poor,  deluded  woman  was  the  plague  of  her  father's 
declining  years.  It  is  but  common  charity  to  think  that 
the  acuteness  of  her  mortification  had  impaired  in  some 
degree  her  reason.  She  spent  many  years  hankering 
after  that  false  European  life,  and  heaping  every  kind  of 
contempt  upon  her  native  land.  She  appears  to  have  been 
incapable  of  human  affection.  She  abandoned  her  father 
and  his  home,  to  roam  around  among  the  tiibd  idlers  of 
Europe,  at  a  time  when  he  peculiarly  needed  her  presence 
and  aid.  He  wrote  to  her  thus  in  1815,  soon  after  the 
death  of  his  wife  : 

"  What  will  the  world  think  of  a  woman  who  had 
recently  followed  her  mother  and  last  sister  to  the  grave, 
and  quit  her  father's  house,  where  duty  and  necessity  call 
for  her  attention  as  the  only  female  of  the  family  left, 
and  thought  proper  to  abandon  all  to  seek  for  admiration 
in  foreign  countries?" 

The  old  man  intimates  that  he,  too,  regarded  her  as  a 
person  not  quite  sound  in  mind.  He  died  in  1835,  aged 
eighty-three  years,  leaving  an  immense  estate,  and  the 
longest  will  ever  recorded  in  Baltimore.  He  did  not  dis~ 
inherit  his  daughter,  Betsy  ;  but  left  her  a  few  small 
houses  and  lots ;  which,  however,  greatly  increased  in 
value  after  his  death.  He  explains  the  smallness  of  his 
bequest  thus : 

"  The  conduct  of  my  daughter  Betsy  has  through  life 
been  so  disobedient  that  in  no  instance  has  she  ever  con- 
sulted my  opinions  or  feelings ;  indeed,  she  has  caused 


516  BETSY   PATTERSON. 

me  more  anxiety  and  trouble  than  all  my  other  children 
put  together,  and  her  folly  and  misconduct  have  occasioned 
me  a  train  of  expense  that  first  and  last  has  cost  me 
much  money.  Under  such  circumstances  it  would  not  be 
reasonable,  just,  or  proper  that  she  should  inherit  and 
participate  in  an  equal  proportion  with  my  other  children 
in  an  equal  division  of  my  estate  ;  considering,  however, 
the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and  that  she  is  still  my 
daughter,  it  is  my  will  and  pleasure  to  provide  for  her  as 
follows,  viz. :  I  give  and  devise  to  my  said  daughter  Betsy, 
first,  the  house  and  lot  on  the  east  side  of  South  Street, 
where  she  was  born,  and  which  is  now  occupied  by  Mr. 
Duncan,  the  shoemaker.  Secondly,  the  houses  and  lots  on 
the  corner  of  Market  Street  bridge,  now  occupied  by  Mr. 
Tulley,  the  chairmaker,  and  Mr.  Priestly,  the  cabinet- 
maker. Thirdly,  the  three  new  adjoining  brick  houses, 
and  the  one  on  the  corner  of  Market  and  Frederick 
Streets.  Fourthly,  two  new  brick  houses  and  lots  on  Gay 
Street,  near  Griffith's  bridge  ;  for  and  during  the  term  of 
the  natural  life  of  my  said  daughter  Betsy  ;  and  after 
her  death  I  give,  devise  and  bequeath  the  same  to  my 
grandson,  Jerome  Napoleon  Bonaparte." 

She  survived  her  father  many  years,  a  well-known 
figure  in  Baltimore,  a  brisk  old  lady  with  a  red  umbrella 
and  a  black  velvet  bonnet,  with  an  income  of  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  but  living  in  a  boarding-house  on 
two  thousand.  A  lady  asked  her  what  religion  she  pre- 
ferred. She  said  that  if  she  adopted  any  religion  it 
would  be  the  Roman  Catholic,  because  "  that  was  a 
religion  of  kings — a  royal  religion."  Her  niece  said : 
"You  would  not  give  up  Presbyterianism  ?"  To  which 
she  replied : 

"  The  only  reason  I  would  not  is,  that  I  should  not  like 
to  give  up  the  stool  my  ancestors  had  sat  upon." 

She  died  in  April,  1879,  and  left  a  million  and  a  half 


BETSY   PATTERSON.  517 

of  dollars  to  her  two  grandsons.  Her  letters  have  been 
published,  and  they  exhibit  to  us  a  character  unlike  that 
of  any  other  American  woman  who  has  been  delineated 
in  print.  She  once  said,  with  equal  sincerity  and  truth, 
that,  in  the  course  of  her  experience  of  life,  she  had 
found  but  one  friend  that  was  always  faithful,  namelv, 
her  Purse.  Such  a  woman  can  have  no  other,  and  to  that 
friend  she  was  faithful  unto  death. 


ZLI. 

SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD   SCHOOL. 

WE  are  often  favored  with  remarks  eulogizing  trie 
ladies  of  the  old  school  at  the  expense  of  ladies 
of  the  present  day.  I  do  not  doubt  that  a  vast  majority 
of  the  ladies  whom  our  ancestors  loved  were  estimable 
beings;  but,  then,  folly  is  of  no  age;  it  belongs  to  all 
times,  to  every  race,  and  to  both  sexes.  Ladies  of  the 
old  school !  How  old  ?  How  far  must  we  go  back  before 
we  come  to  those  admirable  and  faultless  creatures  ? 

Shall  we  say  the  last  century?  People  who  enjoyed 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  ladies  who  lived  a  hundred 
years  ago  do  not  appear  to  have  thought  so  highly  of  them 
as  some  living  persons  do  who  know  them  only  by  report. 
Consider  one  of  their  habits.  What  are  we  to  think  of 
their  passionate,  reckless,  universal  gambling?  Down  to 
1790,  gambling  was  so  universal  in  the  higher  circles, 
that  we  may  almost  say  society  and  gambling  were 
synonymous  terms.  There  appears  to  have  been  high 
play  at  every  court  and  mansion  every  night.  It  was  the 
regular  resource  among  the  idle  classes  for  getting  through 
the  evenings.  Fox,  whom  Nature  formed  to  be  the 
foremost  Englishman  of  his  time, — Fox,  the  Prince  Hal 
of  politics,  —  lost  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  at  cards 
by  the  time  he  was  of  age;  and  his  father  had  to  pay  most 
of  it.  The  card-table  was  spoken  of  sometimes  as  a 
school  for  the  acquisition  of  nerve,  fortitude,  and  good 
temper,  since  it  was  required  of  every  one  to  bear  losses 
with  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness.     But  human  nature 

(518) 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL.        519 

not  unf  requently  triumphed  over  (he  restraints  of  decorum, 
as  well  as  over  the  rules  of  the  game.  There  were  high- 
born dowagers,  with  whom  it  was  a  costly  honor  to  play. 
Nor  were  losses  always  borne  with  equanimity.  A  writer 
of  the  last  century  relates  a  terrific  scene  which  he  wit- 
nessed in  a  London  drawing-room. 

Two  elderly  ladies  were  seated  at  a  table,  playing  for 
pretty  high  stakes.  Without  going  near  them,  it  was 
easy  to  tell  which  was  losing  and  which  was  winning, 
from  the  expression  of  their  faces.  At  length,  the  game 
suddenly  ended  in  a  crushing  disaster  for  one  of  them. 
The  author  describes  the  sweet  and  pleasant  manner 
in  which  the  gamester  of  fifty  years'  standing  bore  her 
loss.  "  Her  face,"  he  says,  "  was  of  a  universal  crimson: 
and  tears  of  rage  seemed  ready  to  start  into  her  eyes.  At 
that  moment,  as  Satan  would  have  it,  her  opponent,  a 
dowager  whose  hair  and  eyebrows  were  as  white  as  those 
of  an  Albiness,  triumphantly  and  briskly  demanded  pay- 
ment for  the  two  black  aces. 

"  '  Two  black  aces ! '  answered  the  loser  in  a  voice 
almost  unintelligible  by  passion.  'Here, take  the  money; 
though,  instead,  I  wish  I  could  give  you  two  black  ejTes, 
you  old  white  cat ! '  accompanying  the  wish  with  a  ges- 
ture that  threatened  a  possibility  of  its  execution.  The 
stately,  starched  old  lady,  who,  in  her  eagerness  to  receive 
her  "winnings,  had  half  risen  from  her  chair,  sunk  back 
into  it  as  though  she  had  really  received  the  blow.  She 
literally  closed  her  eyes  and  opened  her  mouth,  and  for 
several  moments  thus  remained  fixed  by  the  magnitude 
of  her  horror." 

We  hear  a  good  deal  about  the  high-breeding  and 
invincible  politeness  of  the  old  time.  There  was  more 
Ceremony ;  there  was  more  deference  paid  by  poor  to  rich, 
by  employed  to  employer,  by  commoner  to  lord,  by  citizens 
to  their  public  servants ;  but  after  a  wide  survey  of  the- 


.'j20  some  ladies  of  the  old  school. 

records  of  the  past,  and  noting  hundreds  of  indications 
too  trifling  for  mention,  I  am  fully  persuaded,  that  in  our 
hourly  intercourse  with  one  another  as  mere  human 
beings,  without  regard  to  rank  or  caste,  we  are  more 
polite  than  our  ancestors,  —  more  generally  considerate 
of  one  another's  feelings,  rights,  and  dignity. 

I  was  turning  over  in  Scrilmer's,  some  time  ago,  "  The 
Correspondence  of  the  first  Earl  of  Malmesbury."  Good 
heavens !  what  savages  some  of  the  ladies  of  England 
appear  in  those  volumes  of  familiar  letters !  Think  of 
the  ladies  in  the  Pump-Room  at  Bath  getting  into  a  free 
fight,  tearing  one  another's  hair  and  clothes,  so  that  the 
Riot  Act  was  read,  and  read  in  vain !  We  don't  do  so  at 
Saratoga.  We  hear  much  now-a-days  of  the  girl  of  the 
period.  There  was  a  Woman's  Club  in  London  composed 
of  ladies  of  rank,  who  came  and  went  at  all  hours  of  the 
night,  ate,  drank  (drank  deeply  too),  played  for  high 
stakes,  talked  loud,  showed  brawny  arms,  and  boasted  in 
loud,  coarse  voices  of  their  physical  prowess.  A  new 
dance  came  up,  which  these  strong-minded  and  strong- 
limbed  sisters  much  affected.  It  was  for  two  couples,  who 
began  the  dance  by  a  quarrel ;  next  they  fought  a  pair  of 
duels,  firing  real  pistols ;  then  the  couples  danced  a  recon- 
ciliation figure,  which  ended  in  an  embrace ;  and  the  dance 
concluded  with  kisses,  well-timed  and  loud,  that  went  off 
like  the  pistols  employed  in  the  fight.  The  dress  of  these 
high-born  barbarians  was  as  monstrous  as  their  manners. 
We  read  of  one  lady,  who,  on  seeing  the  Duchess  of 
Devonshire  enter  a  room  with  two  feathers  sixteen  inches 
high  nodding  from  the  lofty  summit  of  her  head-dress, 
was  stricken  with  jealousy,  and  thenceforth  took  no  com- 
fort in  life  until  her  undertaker  gave  his  promise  to 
send  her  two  taller  plumes  as  soon  as  one  of  his  hearses 
came  home  from  a  job. 

With  regard  to  decency,  as  we  understand  the  term, 


SOME    LADIES    OF   THE    OLD    SCHOOL.  521 

it  did  not  exist.  Consider  the  anecdote  related  by  Han- 
nah More,  bearing  upon  this  point.  In  her  old  age,  she 
had  a  curiosity  to  read  again  a  novel  which  had  been  a 
favorite  in  families  in  her  youth,  and  which  she  had  her- 
self often  read  at  home  to  the  family  circle.  Upon  get- 
ting the  book  she  was  utterly  amazed  and  confounded 
at  its  indecency :  at  eighty  years,  she  could  not  read  to 
herself  a  work  which  at  sixteen  she  had  read  aloud  to 
father,  mother,  and  friends. 

Dr.  Franklin's  paper,  The  Pennsylvania  Gazette,  the 
best  paper  ever  published  in  the  Colonies,  and  among  the 
most  decent,  contains  fifty  things  which  no  newspaper 
now-a-days,  not  the  most  unscrupulous  of  all,  would  dare 
or  wish  to  publish.  Among  the  shorter  tales  of  Voltaire, 
there  are  several  which  he  wrote  at  the  request  of  ladies, 
to  be  used  by  them  in  liquidation  of  forfeits  incurred  in 
games.  These  tales  were  read  aloud,  by  or  for  the  ladies, 
to  the  whole  circle  at  the  chateau  or  palace  ;  oftener  palace 
than  chateau,  some  of  them  being  written  for  German 
princesses.  Those  talcs  we  should  consider  quite  inde- 
cent, all  of  them.  No  periodical  in  Europe  or  America 
would  publish  them.  The  same  author  used  to  lend  manu- 
script cantos  of  his  "  Pucelle,"  a  poem  of  incredible 
freedom,  to  the  most  distinguished  ladies  in  Europe,  who 
regarded  the  loan  as  an  homage  to  their  taste  and  discre- 
tion, and  sat  up  at  night  making  copies  for  preservation. 
He  read  that  poem  to  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  mother  of 
Frederick  the  Great;  and  one  day,  upon  looking  up,  he 
saw  the  queen's  daughter  listening  on  the  sly.  The  queen, 
too,  saw  her  a  moment  after,  and  exchanged  meaning 
smiles  with  Voltaire,  but  did  not  send  her  away  ;  and  the 
reading  went  on  as  before,  the  flavor  of  the  jests  being 
more  keenly  relished  because  shared  by  virgin  ears. 

Women,  indeed,  were  rather  fonder  of  such  literature 
than   men,  and  for  an  obvious  reason.     Obscene   jests, 


522  SOME   LADIES   OF  THE   OLD    SCHOOL. 

indecent  tales,  and  all  that  constitutes  what  Miss  Wolls- 
tonecraft  styles  "  bodily  wit,"  are  the  natural  resource  of 
ignorant,  idle  minds  ;  and,  a  hundred  years  ago,  the  minds 
of  nearly  all  ladies  were  ignorant  and  idle.  I  assert, 
without  hesitation,  that  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  human 
beings  as  human  beings  is  more  decent,  more  dignified, 
more  kindly  and  more  sincere,  than  it  was. 

For  two  or  three  months  one  summer,  I  lived  at  a  beach 
on  the  coast  of  Maine,  where,  in  all,  during  the  season, 
there  must  have  been  as  many  as  two  thousand  persons, 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  of  all  religions  and  nationali- 
ties. I  can  almost  say  that  there  was  not  a  rude  or 
ungracious  act  done  by  one  of  them.  Nobody  was  stuck 
up ;  nobody  made  any  parade  of  wealth,  or  pretended 
to  any  superiority  on  account  of  his  family  or  occupation. 
At  the  same  time  proper  privacy  was  not  intruded  upon. 
Every  one  seemed  to  wish  well  to  others,  and  the  utmost 
friendliness  prevailed  at  all  times.  Cards  every  evening, 
but  no  gambling ;  dancing  every  evening,  but  all  over  at 
eleven  o'clock  ;  plenty  of  hilarity,  but  scarcely  any  drink- 
ing. All  was  pleasant,  cheerful,  elegant,  decorous,  free. 
Warm  discussions  upon  politics  and  religion,  but  no  intol- 
erance or  ill  temper.  I  say  with  the  boldness  arising 
from  long  research,  that  such  a  company,  gathered  for  a 
similar  purpose,  in  a  similar  place,  during  the  last  century, 
would  have  been  less  innocent,  less  decorous,  less  polite. 
There  would  have  been  high  play,  deep  drinking,  love 
intrigues,  and  no  meeting  of  rich  and  not  rich,  distin- 
guished and  undistinguished,  on  terms  of  friendly  equality. 

Another  fact:  In  a  drawer  of  the  bowling  alley,  I 
found  one  day  a  Latin  dictionary,  a  Livy,  and  a  Vergil  ; 
and  I  discovered,  a  few  days  after,  that  they  belonged  to 
the  boy  who  had  charge  of  the  alley.  He  was  preparing 
for  college !  When  no  one  was  playing,  out  came  his 
Vergil  from  the  drawer ;  and  he  kept  at  it  till  the  next 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


i.Q.1 


customer  strolled  in.  And  the  best  of  it  was,  that  no  one 
saw  anything  extraordinary  in  this.  If  he  came  to  a  pas- 
sage he  could  not  translate,  he  would  bring  his  book  to 
the  piazza,  and  get  assistance  from  some  of  the  gentlemen 
there  who  were  learned  in  the  classics  of  antiquity ;  all 
of  which  seemed  quite  natural  and  ordinary. 

Then  as  to  chivalry — the  grand  politeness,  the  Sidney 
style, — supposed  by  some  to  bo  extinct.  In  our  war, 
many  a  Sidney  served  in  the  ranks ;  one  act  of  one  of 
whom  was  this:  Twenty  men,  thirsty  and  wounded,  were 
waiting  on  a  hot  day,  after  a  battle  near  Chattanooga,  their 
turn  to  be  attended  to.  One  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Christian  Commission  came  up  at  length,  bearing  the 
priceless  treasure  of  a  pail  of  water  and  a  tin  cup.  He 
handed  the  first  cupful  to  the  soldier  who  seemed  most  to 
need  the  cooling,  cleansing  liquid ;  for  he  was  badly 
wounded  in  the  mouth,  from  which  blood  was  oozing. 

"  No,"  said  this  sublime  Sidney  of  the  ranks:  "  I  must 
drink  last ;  for,  you  know,  I  shall  make  the  cup  bloody." 

And  there  were  a  thousand  men  in  that  army  who 
would  have  done  the  same.  In  this  country  certainly,  and, 
I  think,  throughout  Christendom,  if  the  spirit  of  caste 
still  lives  in  vulgar  minds,  it  is  generally  recognized  as 
vulgarity  :  it  hides  itself,  and  is  ashamed. 

"  Would  you  believe  it  ?  "  said  Horace  Walpole,  "  when 
an  artist  is  patronized  now-a-days,  he  thinks  it  is  he  who 
confers  distinction !  " 

The  courtly  old  pensioner  evidently  thought  that  this 
was  mere  insolence  and  absurdity.  This  man,  who  had 
lived  all  his  life  on  the  bounty  of  the  English  people — on 
an  unearned  pension  of  four  thousand  pounds  a  year,  pro- 
cured for  him  by  his  father,  Sir  Robert, — had  not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  his  intrinsic  superiority  to  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  Dr.  Johnson,  Fanny  Burney,  Garrick,or  Handel ! 
Nor  had  anv  other  man  of  his  order  in  Europe.     Some 


524        SOME  LADIES  OP  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

one  was  congratulating  the  great  French  actor,  Leakin, 
upon  the  glory  and  the  money  which  he  had  gained  dur- 
ing a  prosperous  season. 

"  As  to  money,"  said  he,  "  we  do  not  get  as  much  as 
people  think.  My  income,  at  the  most,  is  only  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"  What ! "  cried  a  young  nobleman,  "  a  vile  actor  not 
content  with  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year ;  while  I,  who 
am  in  the  king's  service,  who  sleep  upon  a  cannon,  and 
shed  my  blood  for  my  country, — I  am  only  too  happy  to 
get  a  thousand  francs  !  " 

The  actor,  inwardly  boiling  with  fury,  quietly  said : 

"  Do  you  count  it  for  nothing  that  you  dare  to  speak  to 
to  me  in  that  manner  ?  " 

Paris,  it  is  said,  marveled  at  the  audacity  of  the  vet- 
eran actor,  not  at  all  at  the  insolence  of  the  boy  lieutenant. 
All  that,  let  us  hope,  is  over  forever.  We  may  boast, 
too,  that  an  approach  has  been  made  to  a  substantial 
equality  of  human  conditions  and  opportunities.  Bishop 
Kip  tells  us,  in  a  very  agreeable  article,  how  tranquil, 
dignified,  and  captivating  New  York  society  was  in  the 
olden  time.  Very  well.  But  he  gives  us  to  understand 
in  the  same  article,  that  to  maintain  one  of  those  refined, 
dignified  families,  required  an  estate  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
square ;  and  there  were  only  about  fifty  of  them  in  the 
Avhole  vast  Province  of  New  York.  We  are  also  reminded, 
now  and  then,  of  the  first  families  of  Virginia,  and  the 
grand  life  they  lived  ;  but  it  took  a  plantation  of  five 
thousand  acres,  five  hundred  slaves,  and  fifty  house  ser 
vants,  to  keep  up  one  establishment.  We  must  learn  to 
live  beautifully  at  a  much  cheaper  rate  than  that ;  and  1 
feel  assured  that  we  are  learning  it. 

I  went  over  a  clock-factory,  in  Connecticut,  some  time 
ago — a  spacious  and  handsome  edifice,  filled  with  intelli- 
gent, polite  men  and  women  doing  clean,  inviting  work  ; 


SOME   LADIES   OF   THE   OLD   SCHOOL.  52,1? 

the  water-wheel  performing  all  that  was  hard  and  labori- 
ous. The  only  important  difference  I  could  discover 
between  the  proprietor  and  the  workmen  was,  that  the 
men  came  to  work  every  morning  at  seven,  and  the  owner 
at  half-past  six.  All  of  them,  in  fact,  came  an  hour  too 
soon  and  stayed  an  hour  too  late.  The  workmen  lived  in 
pretty  cottages — their  own,  if  they  choose  to  buy, — with 
good,  large  gardens  around  them.  Their  children  went 
to  the  same  school — common  school  and  high  school — as 
his  children,  and  had  access  to  the  same  library  and 
lyceum.  All  lived  in  the  same  sweet,  umbrageous  village, 
and  looked  out  upon  the  same  circle  of  wood-crowned 
mountains ;  nor  did  there  appear  to  be  in  the  place  a  mind 
small  enough  to  hold  the  barbaric  idea,  that  one  man 
could  be  higher  than  another  because  he  has  more  money, 
or  earns  his  livelihood  by  a  different  kind  of  work. 

Mr.  Emerson,  in  speaking  of  an  improvident  marriage, 
says:  "  Millenium  has  come  and  no  groceries."  I  said 
to  myself,  as  I  strolled  about  this  village,  "Here  is  a  fore- 
taste of  millenium,  and  groceries  in  abundance.  Here 
are  ladies  and  gentlemen,  not  of  the  old  school,  who  are 
living  the  polite  and  intelligent  life  upon  eight  and  twelve 
dollars  a  week." 

Ladies  of  the  present  day  themselves  lament  that  they 
should  be  so  little  able  to  resist  the  tyranny  of  fashion. 
Ladies  of  the  old  school  were  more  submissive  to  fashion 
than  they,  without  lamenting  it.  Let  me  say  that,  of  all 
tyrannies,  the  most  ancient  and  the  most  universal  is  that 
of  fashion.  It  began  with  the  beginning  of  civilization, 
and  it  is  precisely  in  the  most  civilized  nations  that  its 
control  extends  to  the  greatest  variety  of  details.  Phi- 
losophers laugh  at  it ;  but  show  me,  if  you  can,  a  phi- 
losopher who  is  philosopher  enough  to  wear  in  broad  day- 
light his  grandfather's  Sunday  hat !  Is  it  not  a  good 
hat  ?     It  is  an  excellent  hat.     The  soft  and  silken  fur  of 


526  SOME   LADIES   OF   THE   OLD    SCHOOL. 

the  beaver  covers  it ;  it  is  lined  with  the  finest  leather ; 
it  glistens  in  the  sun  with  a  resplendent  gloss ;  it  is  no 
uglier  in  form  than  the  stove-pipe  of  to-day ;  it  has  all 
the  properties  of  a  good  covering  for  the  head.  The 
original  proprietor  wore  it  with  pride,  and  cherished  it 
with  care  in  a  dust-tight  bandbox,  in  which  it  has  reposed 
unharmed  for  fifty  years.  What  is  the  matter  with  this 
superior  hat,  that  a  man  capable  of  marching  up  to  the 
cannon's  mouth  shrinks  with  dismay  from  wearing  it  a 
mile  on  a  fine  afternoon  in  the  street  of  his  native  city  ? 

The  hat  is  simply  out  of  fashion  ;  nothing  more.  The 
present  owner  knows  that,  if  he  were  to  wear  it,  his 
friends  would  take  him  for  a  madman,  his  creditors  would 
fear  for  his  solvency,  and  the  boys  would  set  him  down  as 
a  quack  doctor.  So  rooted,  so  unconquerable  in  this 
tyranny,  which  many  of  us  deride,  and  all  of  us  obey ! 

I  said  it  is  the  oldest  of  our  tyrants.  In  Egyptian 
tombs,  Avhich  were  ancient  when  Antony  wooed  Cleopatra, 
there  have  been  found  many  evidences  that  Egyptian 
ladies  were  as  assiduous  devotees  of  fashion  as  the  fondest 
inspector  of  fashion-plates  can  now  be.  In  the  British 
Museum  you  may  inspect  the  implements  of  Egyptian 
fashion  conveniently  displayed.  There  are  neat  little 
bottles  made  to  hold  the  coloring  matter  used  by  the 
ladies  of  Egypt  for  painting  their  cheeks  and  eyebrows. 
Some  of  these  vessels  have  four  or  five  cells  or  compart- 
ments, each  of  which  contained  liquid  of  a  different 
shade  for  different  portions  of  the  face.  These  were 
applied  with  a  kind  of  long  pin  or  bodkin,  several  of 
which  have  been  brought  to  this  country. 

Professor  W.  II.  Flower,  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  London,  has  recently  published  a 
a  little  book  called  "  Fashion  in  Deformity,"  in  which  he 
mentions  several  ways  in  which  ladies  torment,  as  well 
as   deform  themselves,   in   obedience  to  the  tyranny  of 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL.        527 

fashion.  He  passes  over  Egypt ;  perhaps  because  of  the 
superabundance  of  material  illustrating  his  subject  which 
the  Egyptian  collections  present  to  view.  If  he  had  con- 
fined his  work  to  such  a  testimony  as  the  Egyptian  tombs 
have  yielded,  he  could  have  made  a  volume  ten  times  the 
size  of  the  modest  discourse  with  which  he  has  been  so 
good  as  to  favor  us.  One  of  the  absurd  Egyptian  fashions 
appears  to  have  been  of  some  service.  Herodotus  tells 
us  that,  when  he  was  on  his  travels,  he  once  walked  over 
a  battle-field  where  the  Egyptians  and  the  Persians  had 
fought  some  years  before. 

"I  observed,"  he  says,  "  that  the  skulls  of  the  Persians 
were  so  soft  that  you  could  perforate  them  with  a  small 
pebble,  while  those  of  the  Egyptians  were  so  strong  that 
with  difficulty  you  could  break  them  with  a  large  stone." 

Upon  inquiring  into  the  cause  of  this,  he  was  informed 
that  it  was  owing  to  the  different  head  fashions  of  Egypt 
and  Persia.  In  Egypt  it  was  the  fashion  for  mothers  to 
shave  the  heads  even  of  young  children,  leaving  only  a 
lock  or  two  in  front,  behind,  and  one  on  each  side ;  and 
while  thus  shorn  they  were  allowed  to  go  out  into  the  sun 
without  hats.  The  Persians,  on  the  contrary,  wore  their 
hair  long,  and  protected  themselves  from  the  sun  by  soft 
caps.  We  learn  also  from  this  passage  in  Herodotus, 
that  it  was  not  the  fashion  in  his  time  to  bury  the  dead 
after  a  battle. 

All  the  ancient  civilized  races  took  great  liberties  with 
their  hair,  as  well  as  with  the  hair  of  other  people. 
Persons  of  rank  in  Egypt,  after  shaving  off  their  own 
hair,  wore  wigs  to  distinguish  them  from  bare-headed 
peasants.  A  still  more  inconvenient  fashion  of  Egyptian 
dandies  was  the  wearing  of  false  beards  upon  the  chin, 
composed  of  plaited  hair,  and  varying  in  length  according 
to  the  rank  of  the  wearer.  We  find  that,  in  all  the 
ancient  civilizations,  fashion  selected  similar  objects  upon 

32 


528  SOME   LADIES   OF   THE   OLD   SCHOOL. 

which  to  exercise  its  authority.  Sir  Gardner  Wilkinson 
mentions  that  there  was  a  fashion  in  dogs  in  ancient 
Egypt,  which  changed  from  time  to  time.  Some  breeds 
were  fashionable  on  account  of  their  extreme  ugliness, 
others  for  their  beauty  or  size.  The  favorite  dog  of  a 
popular  princess  would  set  the  fashion  in  dogs  for  a  long 
time,  as  it  does  in  more  modern  days.  As  favorite  dogs 
wrere  frequently  mummied,  and  placed  in  the  tombs  of 
their  owners,  we  are  able  to  trace  several  changes  of 
fashion  in  these  creatures. 

Professor  Flower  could  have  drawn  some  apt  illustra- 
tions from  the  burdensome  head  dresses  found  in  ancient 
tombs.  Some  of  these  were  not  merely  burdensome,  but 
hideous,  the  hair  being  extended  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
the  head  four  or  five  times  larger  than  nature  made  it. 

It  were  well  if  human  beings  would  be  satisfied  with 
self-torment  for  fashion's  sake.  On  almost  any  afternoon 
you  may  see  in  Broadway  terriers  bred  so  small  that  a 
full  grown  dog  does  not  weigh  much  more  than  a  large  rat. 
This  custom  of  changing  the  natural  form  and  size  of 
animals  for  fashion's  sake  is  both  ancient  and  wide- 
spread. The  Hottentots  twist  the  horns  of  their  cattle  into 
various  fantastic  shapes  while  the  horns  are  young  and 
flexible,  and  in  some  parts  of  Africa  the  horns  of  sheep 
are  made  to  grow  in  several  points  by  splitting  the  horn 
with  a  knife  when  it  begins  to  grow.  Among  ourselves, 
too,  horses  tails  are  still  occasionally  docked  for  old 
fashion's  sake,  and  Professor  Flower  remarks  that  the 
ancient  custom  of  cropping  the  ears  of  horses  is  not  yet 
extinct  in  England. 

Among  savages  the  modes  of  fashionable  deformity  are 
more  numerous  than  with  civilized  people,  though  they 
are  less  injurious.  Some  tribes  color  their  nails  red  or 
black.  Tattooing  the  skin  in  an  almost  universal  practice. 
Some  savages  blacken  their  teeth  ;  others  pull  the  mouth 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL.        529 

all  out  of  shape  with  heavy  pendents  ;  others  make  holes 
in  their  ears,  and  continue  to  stretch  them,  until  a  man 
can  pass  his  arms  through  his  ears.  It  is  a  strange  thing 
that  the  practice  of  flattening  the  head,  in  use  among  our 
Flathead  Indians,  does  not  appear  to  injure  the  brain. 
White  men  who  have  resided  in  that  tribe  report  that  any 
mother  who  should  fail  to  flatten  the  heads  of  her  children 
into  the  fashionable  shape,  would  be  thought  a  very 
indolent  and  unkind  parent,  since  it  would  subject  her 
children  to  the  unsparing  ridicule  of  their  playmates. 
Nor  could  the  girls  ever  hope  for  marriage,  nor  the  boys 
aspire  to  have  any  influence  in  the  tribe. 

The  two  Avorst  fashions  in  deformity,  according  to  Pro- 
fessor Flower,  are  cramping  the  feet  and  compressing  the 
body.  The  sufferings  undergone  by  Chinese  girls,  in 
reducing  their  feet  to  the  fashionable  size,  are  so  severe 
and  long  continued  as  to  excite  our  wonder  even  more 
than  our  pity.  The  learned  professor  gives  a  pair  of 
pictures  to  show  what  ladies  do  with  themselves  when 
they  try  to  conform  to  the  fashion  of  half-yard  waist. 
One  presents  to  us  the  statue  of  the  Venus  of  Milo  in  all 
the  majestic  amplitude  of  nature.  The  other  exhibits 
the  Paris  waist  of  May,  1880,  a  silly,  trivial,  nipped  figure 
of  the  fashionable  number  of  inches  in  circuit,  an  object 
of  equal  horror  to  the  anatomist  and  to  the  artist. 

We  moderns,  however,  have  one  comfort.  We  have 
evolved  the  fashion  of  not  following  the  fashion.  Tims, 
the  late  Lord  Palmcrston  never  would  wear  boots  which 
did  not  give  to  each  of  his  toes  all  its  natural  rights,  and 
so  he  set  the  fashion  of  not  wearing  the  fashionable  boot. 
In  every  American  community  there  are  now  to  be  found 
ladies  of  the  new  school,  who,  if  they  follow  the  fashion 
at  all,  follow  it  at  a  rational  distance,  and  know  how  to 
preserve  their  health  and  freedom  without  singularity. 
It  is  no  longer  difficult  to  follow  the  fashion  of  following 
the  fashion, as  Chesterfield  advised,  "  three  paces  behind." 


XLII. 

TORU  DUTT. 

ONE  day  in  August,  187G,  the  English  poet  and  critic, 
Mr.  Edmund  W.  Gosse,  was  lingering  in  the  office 
of  the  London  "  Examiner"  mourning  over  the  dullness 
of  the  book-trade  at  that  season,  and  complaining  that 
the  publishers  sent  him  no  books  worth  reviewing. 
While  he  was  still  talking  upon  this  subject  to  his  friend, 
Mr.  Minto,  the  editor  of  the  paper,  the  postman  arrived, 
bringing  a  meager  little  packet,  marked  with  an  unfamiliar 
Indian  postmark.  Upon  being  opened  it  proved  to  con- 
tain a  small  pamphlet,  entitled,  "  A  Sheaf  Gleaned  in 
French  Fields,  by  Toru  Dutt,"  which  Mr.  Minto  thrust 
hastily  into  the  reluctant  hands  of  Mr.  Gosse,  exclaiming 
as  he  did  so :  "  There,  see  whether  you  can't  make  some- 
thing out  of  that." 

The  critic  did  not  expect  to  make  anything  of  it.  It 
was  a  thin,  shabby,  ugly  little  book,  of  about  two  hundred 
pages,  bound  in  orange  color,  unattractive  in  type,  and 
without  preface  or  introduction,  its  oddly  printed  title- 
page  merely  conveying  the  information  that  it  was  pub- 
lished at  Bhowanipore,  at  the  Saptahiksambad  Press. 
He  took  it,  however,  and  the  first  tiling  he  found  in  it 
was  a  translation  of  A  Morning  Serenade,  by  Victor 
Hugo. 

"  What  was  my  surprise  and  almost  rapture,"  he  says 
in  relating  the  incident,  "  to  open  at  such  verse  as  this : 

"  Still  barred  thy  doors !     The  far  east  glows, 
The  morning  wind  blows  fresh  and  free. 
Should  not  the  hour  that  wakes  the  rose 
Awaken  also  thee  ? 

(530) 


TORU   DUTT   AND   SISTER. 


TORU   DUTT.  533 

•'All  look  for  thee,  Love,  Light,  and  Song; 
Light  in  the  sky  deep  red  above, 
Song,  in  the  lark  of  pinions  strong, 
And  in  my  heart,  true  Love. 

"Apart,  we  miss  our  nature's  goal, 
Why  strive  to  cheat  our  destinies  ? 
Was  not  my  love  made  for  thy  soul  ? 
Thy  beauty  for  mine  eyes  ? 
No  longer  sleep, 

Oh,  listen  now ! 
I  wait  and  weep, 

But  where  art  thou  ? " 

"  When  poetry  is  as  good  as  this,"  continues  Mr.  Gosse, 
it  does  not  much  matter  whether  Rouveyre  prints  it  upon 
Whatman  paper,  or  whether  it  steals  to  light  in  blurred 
type  from  some  press  in  Bhowanipore." 

The  volume  which  thus  pleasantly  surprised  an  accom- 
plished reviewer  was  the  work  of  a  young  Hindu  girl, 
then  only  twenty  years  of  age.  Toru  Dutt  was  the 
youngest  child  of  Govin  Chunder  Dutt,  a  retired  Indian 
officer  of  high  caste.  She  was  born  in  Calcutta  on  the 
fourth  of  March,  1856,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  year's 
visit  to  Bombay,  her  childhood,  and  that  of  her  elder  sister 
Aru,  was  passed  at  her  father's  garden-house  in  the  city 
of  her  birth.  Her  parents,  whom  she  dearly  loved,  were 
devout  Christians,  and  brought  her  up  to  share  their  faith. 
She  was  well  acquainted,  however,  with  all  the  ancient 
songs  and  legends  of  her  own  people,  and  always  retained 
for  them  a  tenderness  of  which  she  sometimes  speaks 
half  apologetically,  while  at  other  times  she  grows  warm 
in. their  praise.  Often  her  mother,  herself,  and  Aru, — . 
for  both  sisters  possessed  very  elenr,  and  well-trained 
contralto  voices — would  sing  these  strange  old  ballads  in 
the  evening,  when  the  sudden  descent  of  the  tropic  night 
brought  welcome  dusk  and  coolness  after  the  glare  and 
heat  of  an  Indian  day. 


534  TORU   DUTT. 

The  two  sisters  were  devoted  companions.  Torn,  the 
younger  by  eighteen  months,  always  unconsciously  took 
the  lead  both  in  studies  and  amusements,  although,  as 
their  father  records,  there  was  no  assumption  of  superi- 
ority on  her  part.  "  It  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  Aru," 
he  says,  "  to  fall  into  the  background  in  the  presence  of 
her  sister.     The  love  between  them  was  always  perfect." 

They  remained  until  1869  in  the  happy  retirement  of 
their  home,  studying  and  learning  how  to  perform  house- 
hold tasks,  none  of  which  they  considered  too  mean  for 
them.  Much  of  their  time  was  spent  in  the  garden,  of 
which  no  description  could  be  given  so  clear  or  so  beauti- 
ful as  Toru's  own,  written  a  few  years  later : 

"A  sea  of  foliage  girds  our  garden  round, 
But  not  a  sea  of  dull,  unvaried  green, 
Sharp  contrasts  of  all  colors  here  are  seen; 
The  light-green,  graceful  tamarinds  abound 
Amid  the  mangoe  clumps  of  green  profound. 
And  palms  arise,  like  pillars  gray,  between ; 
And  o'er  the  quiet  pools  the  seemuls  lean, 
Red, — red,  and  startling  like  the  trumpet's  sound. 
But  nothing  can  be  lovelier  than  the  ranges 

Of  bamboos  to  the  eastward,  when  the  moon 
Looks  through  their  gaps,  aud  the  white  lotus  changes 
Into  a  cup  of  silver.     One  might  swoon 

Drunken  with  beauty  then,  or  gaze  and  gaze 
On  a  primeval  Eden,  in  amaze." 

In  November,  1869,  the  two  girls  went  to  Europe,  and 
visited  France,  Italy,  and  England.  In  France  they  were 
sent  to  school  for  the  only  time  in  their  lives,  spending  a 
few  months  at  a  French  pension.  It  must  have  been 
chiefly  during  this  period  that  Toru  gained  her  marvel- 
ous intimacy  with  the  French  language.  English  she 
spoke  and  wrote  well — even  wonderfully  well  considering 
her  age  and  nationality — yet  an  occasional  lapse  betrays 
the  foreigner.     Her  French,  on  the  contrary,  fluent, grace- 


TORU   DUTT.  535 

ful,  and  idiomatic,  seems  not  the  toilfully  acquired 
accomplishment  of  an  educated  Hindu,  but  the  natural 
speech  of  a  Parisian  lady.  A  brief  sample,  taken  almost 
at  random,  will  prove  this.  It  is  a  description  of  the 
hero  in  her  romance  called  Le  Journal  de  Mademoiselle 
d'Arvers. 

"  II  est  beau  en  effet.  Sa  taille  est  haute,  mais  quel- 
quesuns  la  trouveraient  mince ;  sa  chevelure  noire  est 
bouclde  et  tombe  jusqu'a  la  nuque ;  ses  yeux  noirs  sont 
profonds  et  bien  fendus ;  le  front  est  noble  ;  la  levre 
sup&rieure,  couverte  par  une  moustache  naissante  et  noire, 
est  parfaitement  modcle'e  ;  son  menton  a  quelque  chose  de 
severe ;  son  teint  est  d'un  blanc  ^resquc  fe'minin,  cc  qui 
ddnote  sa  haute  naissance." 

She  always  loved  France.  Her  first  book,  as  we  see, 
was  a  volume  of  translations  from  the  French ;  her  one 
long  prose  work  was  composed  in  French ;  the  first 
article  she  ever  published  was  a  critical  esssay  upon  a 
French  author ;  and  two  of  her  most  stirring  English 
poems  treat  of  French  subjects — one,  an  ode  written  in 
1870  during  the  dark  days  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War, 
the  second,  lines  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf  of  Erckmann- 
Chatrian's  novel  Madame  Therese.  The  latter  concludes 
thus : 

I  read  the  story,  and  my  heart  beats  fast ! 
Well  might  all  Europe  quail  before  thee,  France, 
Battling  against  oppression !     Years  have  passed, 
Yet  of  that  time  men  speak  with  moistened  glance, 
Va-nu-pieds !     When  rose  high  your  Marseillaise 
Man  knew  his  rights  to  earth's  remotest  bound 
And  tyrants  trembled.     Yours  alone  the  praise ! 
Ah,  had  a  Washington  but  then  been  found! 

On  leaving  France  the  sisters  went  to  England,  where 
they  attended  the  lectures  for  women  at  Cambridge,  and 
in  1873  they  returned  to  their  beloved  home  in  Calcutta, 


536  TORU   DUTT. 

where  the  four  remaining  years  of  Toru's  life  were  passed. 
A  photograph  taken  before  their  departure  shows  both 
girls  to  have  been  pleasing  and  refined  in  appearance, 
while  Toru's  rather  round  face  with  its  bronze  skin, 
brilliant  eyes,  and  shading  mass  of  loose  hair,  might  be 
termed  pretty,  did  we  not  prefer  to  call  it  expressive, 
since  its  alertness  and  intelligence  possess  a  stronger 
charm  than  its  beauty. 

Toru's  career  as  an  author  dated  from  her  return  to 
India.  Equipped  already  with  a  stock  of  knowledge 
which,  as  Mr.  Gosse  well  says,  "  would  have  sufficed  to 
make  an  English  or  French  girl  seem  learned,  but  which 
in  her  case  was  simply  miraculous,"  she  could  not  rest 
content  with  these  acquirements,  but  devoted  herself 
zealously  to  the  study  of  Sanskrit,  under  her  father's 
tuition ;  a  pursuit  which  she  continued  until,  in  con- 
sideration of  her  failing  health,  he  required  her  to  give  it 
up.  Her  first  publication,  which  appeared  in  the  Bengal 
Magazine  when  she  was  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  was 
an  essay  upon  the  French  poet  Leconte  de  Lisle,  with 
whose  somewhat  austere  compositions  she  had  much 
sympathy.  This  was  soon  followed  by  another  upon 
Jose* phi n  Soulary,  both  being  illustrated  by  translations 
into  English  verse. 

In  July,  1874,  her  sister  Aru  died  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
and  in  her  Torn  lost  a  faithful  helper  and  friend.  It  had 
been  their  cherished  project  to  publish  an  anonymous 
novel  which  Torn  was  to  write  and  Aru,  who  possessed  a 
striking  talent  for  design,  was  to  illustrate.  Toru  began 
the  novel — Le  Journal  de  Mademoiselle  d'Arvers — before 
leaving  Europe,  but  Aru  died  without  having  seen  a  page 
of  it,  and  Toru  herself  was  in  her  grave  when  the  com- 
pleted manuscript  was  found  among  her  papers  by  her 
father  and  given  to  the  public. 

The  "Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields"  appeared,  as 


TORU    DUTT. 


537 


we  have  stated,  in  1876.  This  wonderful  book  of  trans- 
lations, made  by  a  young  girl  in  India,  from  one  foreign 
language  into  another,  found  but  two  reviewers  in  all 
Europe.  One  of  these  was  the  French  poet  and  novelist, 
Andre"  Theuriet,  who  was  himself  represented  in  its  pages 
by  one  of  her  most  successful  translations,  and  who  gave 
it  just  and  discriminating  praise  in  the  Revue  de  Deux 
Mondes.  The  other  was  the  gentleman  who  had  so 
unwillingly  received  it  in  the  office  of  the  London 
Examiner.  Mr.  Gosse,  in  the  memoir  with  which  he 
afterwards  prefaced  one  of  Toru's  works,  claims  with 
sympathetic  pride  that  he  was  "  a  little  earlier  still  in 
sounding  the  only  note  of  welcome  which  reached  the 
dying  poetess  from  England." 

The  dying  poetess  !  Torn,  never  strong,  and  exhausted 
by  the  continuous  strain  of  her  literary  labors,  was  soon 
to  follow  the  sister  whom  she  so  deeply  mourned.  Her 
letters  to  her  friend,  Mile.  Clarisse  Bader,  show  us  very 
clearly  the  beginning  of  the  end.  Mile.  Bader  was  the 
author  of  a  French  work  entitled,  "  Woman  in  Ancient 
India,"  which  Toru  desired  to  translate  into  English. 
Before  doing  so,  however,  she  wrote  to  ask  permission  of 
the  author.     She  received  a  most  kind  and  gracious  reply. 

"  Dear  Mademoiselle,"  wrote  Mile.  Bader,  "  What !  It 
is  a  descendant  of  my  dear  Indian  heroines  who  desires 
to  translate  the  work  I  have  devoted  to  the  ancient  Aryan 
women  of  the  Peninsula  of  the  Ganges !  Such  a  wish, 
emanating  from  such  a  source,  touches  me  too  deeply  for 
me  not  to  listen  to  it.  Translate,  then,  Woman  in  Ancient 
India,  Mademoiselle ;  I  authorize  you  with  all  my  heart 
to  do  so;  and  with  all  my  most  sympathetic  desires  I 
invoke  the  success  of  your  enterprise.  .  .  .  When 
you  have  published  in  India  your  translation  of  Woman 
in  Ancient  India,  I  should  be  very  grateful  if  you  would 
kindly  send  two  copies  of  your  version.     I  should  also  be 


538  TORY   DUTT. 

very  happy  to  receive  your  photograph  if  you  still  possess 
one." 

Toru's  reply,  dated  Calcutta,  March  18,  1877,  is  as 
follows : 

"  Dear  Mademoiselle,  I  thank  you  very  sincerely  for 
your  kind  authorization  to  translate  '  Woman  in  Ancient 
India'  and  also  for  your  kind  and  sympathetic  letter, 
which  has  given  me  the  keenest  pleasure. 

"  I  deeply  lament  not  to  have  been  able  to  begin  the 
translation  yet,  but  my  constitution  is  not  very  strong ; 
more  than  two  years  ago  I  contracted  an  obstinate  cough 
which  never  leaves  me.  Nevertheless,  I  hope  soon  to  set 
to  work. 

"  I  cannot  express,  Mademoiselle,  how  much  your 
affection  for  my  country  and  my  countrywomen  touches 
me,  for  both  your  letter  and  your  book  sufficiently  testify 
that  you  do  love  them ;  and  I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  say 
that  the  heroines  of  our  great  epics  are  worthy  of  all 
honor  and  all  love.  Is  there  any  heroine  more  touching, 
more  loveable,  than  Sita  ?  I  do  not  believe  there  is. 
When,  in  the  evening,  I  hear  my  mother  sing  the  old 
songs  of  our  country  I  almost  always  shed  tears.  Sita's 
lament  when,  banished  for  the  second  time,  she  wanders 
alone  in  the  vast  forest  with  terror  and  despair  in  her 
soul,  is  so  pathetic  that  I  think  there  is  no  one  who  could 
hear  it  without  crying.  I  enclose  for  you  two  little  trans- 
lations from  that  beautiful  old  language,  the  Sanskrit. 
Unfortunately,  I  was  obliged  to  cease  my  translations 
from  the  Sanskrit  six  months  ago.  My  health  does  not 
permit  me  to  continue  them.  I  send  you  also  my  portrait 
and  that  of  my  sister.  In  the  photograph  she  is  repre- 
sented as  seated.  She  was  so  sweet  and  so  good !  The 
photograph  dates  from  four  years  ago,  when  I  was 
seventeen  and  she  scarcely  nineteen.  I  too,  Mademoiselle, 
shall  be  grateful,  if  you  will  kindly  send  me  your  photo- 
graph.    I  will  keep  it  as  one  of  my  greatest  treasures. 


TORU   DUTT.  539 

"  I  must  pause  here ;  I  will  not  further  intrude  upon 
your  time.     Like  M.  Lefevre-Deumier,  I  must  say  : 

"Farewell  then,  dear  friend  whom  I  have  not  known," 

"  For,  Mademoiselle,  I  count  you  among  my  friends  and 
among  my  best  friends,  although  I  have  not  seen  you. 

"  Believe,  Mademoiselle,  the  renewed  assurance  of  my 
friendship,  Toru  Dijtt." 

From  a  postscript  we  learn  that  she  had  expected  to 
visit  Europe  for  her  health,  and  she  expresses  her  hope 
of  soon  meeting  her  unknown  friend.  In  April,  however, 
she  writes  again,  saying  that  she  had  been  very  ill  for  a 
fortnight,  and  that  this  plan  had  been  abandoned.  She 
asked  Mile.  Bader  to  write  to  her  at  her  old  address  — 
"  your  letter  and  your  portrait  will  do  me  good."  It  is 
pleasant  to  think  how  she  must  have  enjoyed  the  cheering 
and  appreciative  letter  which  she  received  in  reply.  It 
enclosed  the  portrait,  too,  although  Mile.  Bader  declares 
that  her  photographs  were  always  each  uglier  than  the 
last,  and  that  it  was  a  great  piece  of  self-sacrifice  for  her 
to  send  one  to  anybody  who  had  never  seen  her. 

Toru  answers  briefly  but  warmly,  thanking  her  friend 
for  her  kindness  and  excusing  herself  from  writing  more 
at  length  on  the  ground  that  she  has  been  suffering  four 
months  from  fever,  and  is  still  too  weak  to  go  from  her 
own  room  to  the  next  without  feeling  extreme  fatigue. 
One  more  letter  from  Mile.  Bader,  even  more  cordial  and 
affectionate  than  the  last,  closes  the  correspondence.  It 
is  full  of  sympathy  and  encouragement.  She  exclaims 
with  surprise  that  Toru,  in  her  photograph  apparently 
the  picture  of  health,  should  have  been  so  ill. 

"But  now,"  she  adds,  "you  have  wholly  recovered, 
have  you  not?  And,  at  the  time  of  the  Exposition,  you 
will  come  to  our  sweet  land  of  France,  whose  mild  breezes 
Will  do  you  good— -you,  who  have  suffered  from  your 


540  TORU   DUTT. 

burning  climate.  Friendly  hearts  await  you  with  joyous 
hope.  My  parents  and  myself  love  you  much  —  without 
having  ever  seen  you,  but  your  letters  and  your  works 
have  revealed  to  us  the  goodness  of  your  heart,  the  candor 
of  your  soul.  Come,  then,  my  amiable  friend,  to  seal 
with  your  presence  an  affection  which  is  already  yours." 

The  two  friends  never  met;  the  letter  was  never 
answered,  never  received.  It  was  dated  September  11, 
1877.  Toru  Dutt  died  August  30th  of  the  same  year, 
aged  twenty-one  years,  six  months,  and  twenty-six  days. 
She  had  breathed  her  last  before  the  letter  was  even 
written.  Her  last  words  were,  "  It  is  only  the  physical 
pain  that  makes  me  cry." 

She  died  almost  unknown  to  fame.  A  few  men  in  France 
and  England  who  had  made  the  Orient  a  special  study, 
had  noted  her  works  and  praised  them  as  the  achievement 
of  a  Hindu  genius ;  a  still  smaller  number  had  read  them 
and  loved  them  for  their  poetry  alone.  But,  from  the  day 
of  her  death  her  reputation  grew,  and  a  second  edition  of 
the  "  Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields"  was  soon  prepared, 
with  a  brief  preface  by  her  father.  This  book  was,  it 
must  be  remembered,  the  only  one  of  hers  published  in 
her  lifetime;  upon  this  alone  it  was  at  first  thought  that 
her  fame  must  rest.  Even  had  this  been  the  case,  her 
place  in  literature  should  have  been  secure.  The  trans- 
lations vary;  some  are  almost  flawless  gems  of  English, 
such  as  the  "  Serenade  "  already  given,  or  this  version  of 
a  poem  by  Evariste  de  Parny,  on  the  "  Death  of  a  Young 

Girl": 

"  Though  childhood's  days  were  past  and  gone 
More  innocent  no  child  could  be ; 
Though  grace  in  every  feature  shone, 
Her  maiden  heart  was  fancy  free. 

"A  few  more  months,  or  haply  days 

And  Love  would  blossom  —  so  we  thought 
As  lifts  in  April's  genial  rays 

The  rose  its  clusters  richly  wrought. 


TORU   DUTT.  541 

"  But  God  had  destined  otherwise, 
And  so  she  gently  fell  asleep, 
A  creature  of  the  starry  skie3 
Too  lovely  for  the  earth  to  keep. 

"  She  died  in  earliest  womanhood; 

Thus  dies,  and  leaves  behind  no  trace, 
A  bird's  song  in  a  leafy  wood  — 

Thus  melts  a  sweet  smile  from  a  face." 

At  other  times  she  is  not  so  fortunate.  Sometimes  a 
poem  intended  to  be  picturesque  or  impressive  is  given  a 
really  comical  turn  by  the  introduction  of  some  unex- 
pected little  colloquial  phrase,  used  by  Tom  with  perfect 
good  faith  as  to  its  suitability.  Take,  for  example,  her 
translation  of  Victor  Hugo's  magnificent  piece  upon  the 
'•  Forts  of  Paris  "  in  which  the  mood  of  the  English  reader 
is  undesirably  affected  by  the  statement  that 

"  At  a  respectful  distance  keep  the  forts, 
A  multitude,  a  populace,  of  monstrous  guns, 
That  in  the  far  horizon  wolf-like  prowl." 

The  word  "cannon-wagon,"  too,  does  not  lend  itself 
gracefully  to  blank  verse. 

"  The  sinister  cannon-wagons  darkly  grouped  " 

were  doubtless  awe-inspiring  objects,  but  the  effect  upon 
the  reader  is  not  wholly  the  one  intended.  Yet  in  the 
same  piece  occur  these  finely  resonant  lines  descriptive 
of  cannon: 

"  Far  stretching  out 
Their  necks  of  bronze  around  the  wall  immense, 
They  rest  awake  while  peacefully  we  sleep, 
And  in  their  hoarse  lungs  latent  thunders  growl 
Low  premonitions." 

The  notes  appended  to  the  book  are  almost  as  interest- 
ing, in  their  curious  display  of  unlooked-for  knowledge  and 
equally  unlooked-for  ignorance,  as  the  work  itself.  It  is 
plain  that  she  is  acquainted  with  our  American  authors. 


542  TORU   DUTT. 

Ill  a  note  upon  Charles  Nodier  she  remarks  that  his 
prose  stories  are  charming  and  remind  her  of  Washington 
Irving.  In  another  upon  Baudelaire,  she  detects  in  one 
of  his  poems  a  plagiarism  from  Longfellow  —  a  literal 
translation  of  a  verse  from  the  "Psalm  of  Life." 

Fortunately  for  the  reading  public,  however,  we  have 
other  standards  by  which  to  judge  of  Toru's  talent.  After 
her  death  her  father  found  among  her  papers  the  com- 
plete French  romance  of  "Mademoiselle  d'Arvers,"  which 
was  soon  published  under  the  editoRial  care  of  Mile. 
Bader,  and  a  sufficient  number  of  English  poems  to  form 
the  little  volume  lately  issued  under  the  title  of  "Ancient 
Songs  and  Ballads  of  Hindustan,"  and  prefaced  by  Mr. 
Gosse  with  a  memoir  of  the  author. 

" Le  Journal  de  3Iademoiselle  d'Arvers"  is  a  novel  of 
modern  French  society,  treating  of  the  love  of  two  broth- 
ers for  the  same  beautiful  and  noble  girl.  It  is  tragic,  the 
unhappy  passion  leading  finally  to  fratricide  and  madness. 
Yet,  in  dealing  with  these  difficult  matters,  Toru  never 
becomes  melodramatic  or  ridiculous,  and  often  displays 
true  power,  though  she  is  not  seldom  unreal  and  fantas- 
tic. Of  more  interest  to  American  readers  is  the  collec- 
tion of  her  English  poems  —  her  chief  claim  to  distinction. 
These,  too,  vary  greatly.  She  had  not  yet  completely 
conquered  the  language  in  which  she  wrote ;  we  arc  still 
surprised  by  occasional  prosaic  expressions  in  the  midst 
of  poetry,  and  the  strange  legends  which  she  relates  are 
often  rendered  stranger  to  our  ears  by  the  phrases  in 
which  she  relates  them.  But  they  are  interesting,  strik- 
ing, and  often  beautiful.  Under  the  heading  "  Miscel- 
laneous Poems  "  there  occur  at  the  end  of  the  volume  a 
few  pages  which  having  once  read  we  should  find  it  very 
hard  to  spare.  Through  them  all  breathes  the  bright  and 
kindly  spirit  that  made  their  young  author  so  dear  to  all 
around  her. 


TORU    BUTT. 


543 


Geniuses  arc  not  always  comfortable  people  to  live  with ; 
but  Toru,  although  during  the  four  years  in  which  she 
accomplished  the  work  of  her  lifetime  she  was  a  frail 
invalid  wasting  to  her  death,  seems  never  to  have  been  to 
those  who  shared  her  daily  life  anything  but  a  blessing, 
from  which  they  found  it  the  greatest  of  sorrows  to  part. 

To  some  readers,  the  most  touching  thing  in  all  her 
sad,  short  history  is  the  brief  paragraph  in  which  her 
father,  now  childless,  describes  his  companionship  with 
her  in  labor.  She  had  a  wonderful  memory,  and  when  a 
dispute  arose  between  them  as  to  the  significance  of  any 
word  or  phrase,  she  was  very  apt  to  be  in  the  right.  Some- 
times, however,  her  father  was  so  sure  of  his  position  that 
he  would  propose  laying  a  wager — usually  a  rupee —  before 
referring  to  the  lexicon  to  settle  the  question.  Torn 
almost  always  won,  but  now  and  then  she  was  mistaken. 

"  It  was  curious  and  very  pleasant  for  me,"  says  her 
father,  t;  to  watch  her  when  she  lost.  First  a  bright  smile ; 
then  thin  fingers  patting  my  grizzled  cheek  ;  then  perhaps 
some  quotation  from  Mrs.  Barrett  Browning,  her  favorite 
poetess,  like  this : 

'Ah,  my  gossip,  you  are  older  and  more  learned,  and  a  man ! ' 

or  some  similar  pleasantry." 

The  story  of  her  life  can  not  be  better  closed  than  by 
quoting  here  the  beautiful  last  poem  of  her  last  book,  in 
which  her  loving  and  observant  spirit  finds,  perhaps,  its 
highest  expression.  In  it  she  sings  once  more  of  that 
dear  garden  home  where  she  and  Aru  spent  their  child- 
hood together,  and  to  which  both  returned  to  die.  It  is 
called  "  Our  Casuarina  Tree." 

Like  a  huge  Python,  winding  round  and  round 
The  rugged  trunk,  indented  deep  with  scars, 
Up  to  its  very  summit  near  the  stars, 

A  creeper  climbs,  in  whose  embraces  bound 


544  TORU   DUTT. 

No  other  tree  could  live,  but  gallantly 
The  giant  wears  the  scarf,  and  flowers  are  hung 
In  crimson  clusters  all  the  boughs  among, 

Whereon  all  day  are  gathered  bird  and  bee; 
And  oft  at  night  the  garden  overflows 
With  one  sweet  song  that  seems  to  have  no  close 
Sung  darkling  from  our  tree  while  men  repose. 

When  first  my  casement  is  wide  open  thrown 

At  dawn,  my  eyes  delighted  on  it  rest; 

Sometimes,  and  most  in  winter,  on  its  crest 
A  grey  baboon  sits  statue-like  alone 

Watching  the  sunrise ;  while  on  lower  boughs 
His  puny  offspring  leap  about  and  play ; 
And  far  and  near  ko-kilas  hail  the  day ; 

And  to  their  pastures  wend  our  sleepy  cows; 
And  in  the  shadow,  on  the  broad  tank  cast 
By  that  hoar  tree,  so  beautiful  and  vast, 
The  water-lilies  spring,  like  snow  enmassed. 

But  not  because  of  its  magnificence 
Dear  is  the  Casuarina  to  my  soul : 
Beneath  it  we  have  played ;  though  years  may  roll 

0  sweet  companions,  loved  with  love  intense, 
For  your  sakes,  shall  the  tree  be  ever  dear? 

Blent  with  your  images,  it  shall  arise 
In  memory,  till  the  hot  tears  blind  mine  eyes ! 
What  is  that  dirge-like  murmur  that  I  hear 
Like  the  sea  breaking  on  a  shingle-beach? 
It  is  the  tree's  lament,  an  eerie  speech 
That  haply  to  the  unknown  land  may  reach. 

Unknown,  yet  well-known  to  the  eye  of  faith! 

Ah,  I  have  heard  that  wail  far,  far,  away 

In  distant  lands,  by  many  a  sheltered  bay, 
When  slumbered  in  his  cave  the  water-wraith 

And  the  waves  gently  kissed  the  classic  shore 
Of  France  or  Italy,  beneath  the  moon, 
When  earth  lay  tranced  in  a  dreamless  swoon: 

And  every  time  the  music  rose — before 
Mine  inner  vision  rose  a  form  sublime, 
Thy  form,  O  Tree,  as  in  my  happy  prime 

1  saw  thee,  in  my  own  loved  native  clime. 


TORTJ  DUTT.  545 

Therefore  I  fain  would  consecrate  a  lay 

Unto  thy  honor,  Tree,  beloved  of  those 

"Who  now  in  blessed  sleep  for  aye  repose, 
Dearer  than  life  to  me,  alas !  were  they ! 

Mayst  thou  be  numbered  when  my  days  are  done 
"With  deathless  trees,  like  those  in  Borrowdalc, 
Under  whose  awful  branches  lingered  pale 

''Fear,  trembling  Hope,  and  Death  the  skeleton, 
And  Time  the  shadow;"  and  though  weak  the  verse 
That  would  thy  beauty  fain,  oh  fain  rehearse, 
Hay  Love  defend  thee  from  Oblivion's  curse. 

33 


XLIII. 

GEORGE  SAND. 

GEORGE  SAND  is  a  name  which  the  English-speak- 
ing world  still  pronounces  with  something  less  than 
respect.  She  was  not  of  our  race,  nor  of  our  manners, 
and  her  immediate  ancestors  were  extreme  types  of  every- 
thing in  human  character  most  remote  from  ourselves 
and  our  sense  of  the  right  and  becoming. 

To  begin  with,  she  was  the  great-granddaughter  of  that 
brilliant,  dissolute  Maurice  de  Saxe,  Marshal  of  France, 
who  in  1745  won  for  Louis  XV  and  in  his  presence  the 
battle  of  Fontenoy.  Her  great-grandmother,  a  scarcely 
less  remarkable  personage,  was  Aurora,  the  beautiful 
Countess  von  Koenigsmark.  Her  grandmother,  the  child 
of  this  famous,  disorderly  pair,  a  lady  deeply  imbued 
with  aristocratic  feeling,  was  proud  of  her  illustrious, 
irregular  descent,  and  preserved  in  her  demeanor  the 
formality  of  a  past  period.  In  her  youth  she  experienced 
strange  vicissitudes.  "Withdrawn  at  an  early  age  from  a 
convent  in  order  to  marry  Count  de  Horn,  of  whom  she 
knew  nothing,  she  was  left  a  widow  while  fetes  were  in 
progress  in  honor  of  the  newly  married  couple.  She  lived 
for  some  time  upon  a  modest  pension  allowed  her  by  the 
Dauphiness ;  then,  that  Princess  dying,  she  was  left  des- 
titute. It  was  a  fashion  then  in  Europe  for  persons  who 
had  no  other  resource  to  apply  for  aid  to  Voltaire,  and 
to  him  the  young  Countess  appealed.  Madame  Sand 
always  preserved  among  her  treasures  her  grandmother's 
letter  to  the  chief  of  the  "  philosophers,"  and  his  reply. 
(546) 


GEORGE  SAND. 


GEORGE   SAND.  549 

"  It  is  to  the  singer  of  Fontenoy  that  the  daughter  of 
Marshal  de  Saxe  addresses  herself  in  order  to  obtain 
bread,"  wrote  the  Countess.  "...  I  have  thought  that 
he  who  has  immortalized  the  victories  of  the  father  would 
be  interested  in  the  misfortunes  of  the  daughter.  To  him 
it  belongs  to  adopt  the  children  of  heroes,  and  to  be  my 
support,  as  he  is  that  of  the  daughter  of  the  great  Cor- 
neille." 

"  Madame,"  the  aged  poet  replied,  "  I  shall  go  very 
soon  to  rejoin  the  hero  your  father,  and  I  shall  inform 
him  with  indignation  of  the  condition  in  which  his 
daughter  now  is."  He  then  advised  her  to  appeal  to 
his  particular  friend,  the  Duchess  de  Choiseul,  wife  of  the 
prime  minister,  "whose  soul  is  just,  noble,  and  benefi- 
cent." 

"Doubtless,"  he  concluded,  "you  did  me  too  much 
honor  when  you  thought  a  sick  old  man,  persecuted  and 
withdrawn  from  the  world,  could  be  so  happy  as  to  serve 
the  daughter  of  Marshal  de  Saxe.  But  you  have  done 
me  justice  in  not  doubting  the  lively  interest  I  take  in  the 
daughter  of  so  great  a  man." 

This  letter,  which  she  hastened  to  show  to  the  Duchess 
de  Choiseul,  procured  her  the  relief  of  which  she  stood  in 
need,  and  shortly  afterward  she  married  again.  Her 
second  husband,  M.  Dupin, died  after  ten  years  of  wedded 
life,  leaving  to  his  widow  the  care  of  their  only  child, 
Maurice.  Madame  Dupin,  with  what  the  Revolution  had 
left  to  her  of  her  husband's  property,  then  purchased  the 
country  estate  of  Nohant,  in  Berri,  since  made  famous 
through  the  genius  of  George  Sand,  and  went  there  to 
live  with  her  son.  He,  when  twenty-six  years  of  age, 
contracted  a  secret  marriage  with  Sophie  Victorie  Dela- 
borde,  a  Swiss  milliner,  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in  song 
birds. 

Mademoise'le  Delabordc,  four  years  older  than  Maurice 


552  GEORGE   SAND. 

was  sent  to  the  English  convent  of  Augustine  nuns  in 
Paris.  The  pupils  in  this  convent  were  divided  into  two 
bands — the  diables  or  mischievous  girls,  and  the  sages  or 
good  girls.  Aurore  was  promptly  enrolled  among  the 
diables,  and  so  distinguished  herself  by  pranks  of  many 
kinds,  and  especially  by  her  earnestness  in  an  enterprise 
called  mysteriously  "  the  Deliverance  of  the  Victim  "  (the 
search,  partly  serious  and  partly  frolicsome,  for  an  erring 
nun  supposed  to  be  imprisoned  somewhere  within  the 
building),  that  she  soon  earned  the  appellation  of  Madcap 
from  her  admiring  friends.  But,  in  the  second  year  of 
her  stay,  this  heroic  undertaking  suddenly  lost  its  charm. 
She  was  converted,  became  a  devoted  Catholic,  and 
desired  fervently  to  become  a  nun.  By  her  companions 
she  was  now  renamed,  Saint  Aurore. 

The  sisters  were  too  wise  to  encourage  her  excessive 
devotion,  and  her  confessor,  disapproving  sudden  asceti- 
cism, ordered  her  as  a  penance  to  continue  the  games  and 
amusements  from  which  she  wished  to  withdraw.  Her 
taste  for  them  quickly  returned,  and  she  became  again  a 
leader  among  her  companions,  although  scrupulously 
avoiding  anything  like  mischief  or  insubordination.  Her 
desire  for  the  cloister  was  not  finally  dispelled  until  a  year 
or  two  later,  when  a  fever  of  reading  came  upon  her,  and 
she  devoured  in  turn  the  pages  of  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Locke, 
Condillac,  Bossuet,  Pascal  Montaigne,  Montesquieu, 
Leibnitz,  and  others. 

"  Reading  Leibnitz,"  she.  afterward  remarked,  "  I 
became  a  Protestant  without  knowing  it." 

A  little  later  she  found  in  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  a 
writer  whose  poetic  treatment  of  religious  subjects 
impressed  her  still  more  strongly.  She  passed  through 
many  phases  of  religious  feeling  in  her  life,  but  she  was 
enabled  to  say  in  later  years : 

"  As  to  my  religion,  the  ground  of  it  has  never  varied. 


GEORGE   SAND.  553 

The  forms  of  the  past  have  vanished  for  me  as  for  my 
century  before  the  light  of  study  and  reflection.  But  the 
eternal  doctrine  of  believers,  of  God  and  His  goodness, 
the  immortal  soul  and  the  hopes  of  another  life,  this  is 
what,  in  myself,  has  been  proof  against  all  examination, 
all  discussion,  and  even  intervals  of  despairing  doubt." 

Aurore  Dupin  left  the  convent  and  returned  to  Nohant, 
in  1820,  when  she  was  fifteen  years  of  age.  At  the 
chateau  she  now  passed  the  midnight  hours  in  study,  and 
in  considering  the  most  difficult  problems  of  existence ; 
but  her  days  were  spent  in  a  very  different  manner. 
Within  doors  she  exerted  herself  to  keep  on  peaceable 
terms  with  her  grandmother,  whose  temper  had  not 
improved  with  age,  in  practicing  the  harp,  in  drawing,  in 
studying  philosophy  and  anatomy,  and  in  getting  up  little 
comedies  to  amuse  her  elders ;  out-of-doors,  attired  for 
greater  convenience  in  a  suit  of  boy's  clothes,  with  blouse 
and  gaiters,  she  pursued  botany  or  hunted  quails  with  her 
eccentric  tutor,  M.  Deschatres.  She  was  a  fearless  rider, 
as  well  as  a  good  shot ;  both  these  last  accomplishments 
being  due  to  the  instruction  of  her  half-brother  Hippolyte, 
who  had  taught  her  during  a  brief  visit  home,  while  on 
leave  of  absence  from  his  regiment.  Her  daring  feats 
astonished  and  shocked  the  neighbors  ;  but  M.  Deschatres, 
who  cared  for  nothing  but  quails  and  anatomy,  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  restrain  her,  and  old  Madame  Dupin 
was  fast  falling  into  her  dotage.  The  young  girl  was  free 
from  restraint. 

A  year  later  the  old  lady  died,  leaving  all  her  property 
to  Aurore.  She  now  returned  to  her  mother  in  Paris, 
hoping  for  a  happiness  which  she  did  not  find.  Time  and 
absence  had  loosened  the  bond  between  them,  and  Madame 
Maurice  Dupin  was  not  blessed  with  an  equable  disposition. 
Aurore  obeyed  her  in  everything  without  question,  but 
this  excess  of  submission  only  exasperated  the  mother, 


552  GEORGE  SAND. 

was  sent  to  the  English  convent  of  Augustine  nuns  in 
Paris.  The  pupils  in  this  convent  were  divided  into  two 
bands — the  diables  or  mischievous  girls,  and  the  sages  or 
good  girls.  Aurore  was  promptly  enrolled  among  the 
diables,  and  so  distinguished  herself  by  pranks  of  many 
kinds,  and  especially  by  her  earnestness  in  an  enterprise 
called  mysteriously  "  the  Deliverance  of  the  Victim  "  (the 
search,  partly  serious  and  partly  frolicsome,  for  an  erring 
nun  supposed  to  be  imprisoned  somewhere  within  the 
building),  that  she  soon  earned  the  appellation  of  Madcap 
from  her  admiring  friends.  But,  in  the  second  year  of 
her  stay,  this  heroic  undertaking  suddenly  lost  its  charm. 
She  was  converted,  became  a  devoted  Catholic,  and 
desired  fervently  to  become  a  nun.  By  her  companions 
she  was  now  renamed,  Saint  Aurore. 

The  sisters  were  too  wise  to  encourage  her  excessive 
devotion,  and  her  confessor,  disapproving  sudden  asceti- 
cism, ordered  her  as  a  penance  to  continue  the  games  and 
amusements  from  which  she  wished  to  withdraw.  Her 
taste  for  them  quickly  returned,  and  she  became  again  a 
leader  among  her  companions,  although  scrupulously 
avoiding  anything  like  mischief  or  insubordination.  Her 
desire  for  the  cloister  was  not  finally  dispelled  until  a  year 
or  two  later,  when  a  fever  of  reading  came  upon  her,  and 
she  devoured  in  turn  the  pages  of  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Locke, 
Condillac,  Bossuet,  Pascal  Montaigne,  Montesquieu, 
Leibnitz,  and  others. 

"  Reading  Leibnitz,"  she.  afterward  remarked,  "  I 
became  a  Protestant  without  knowing  it." 

A  little  later  she  found  in  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  a 
writer  whose  poetic  treatment  of  religious  subjects 
impressed  her  still  more  strongly.  She  passed  through 
many  phases  of  religious  feeling  in  her  life,  but  she  was 
enabled  to  say  in  later  years : 

"  As  to  my  religion,  the  ground  of  it  has  never  varied. 


CEORGE   SAND.  553 

The  forms  of  the  past  have  vanished  for  me  as  for  my 
century  before  the  light  of  study  and  reflection.  But  the 
eternal  doctrine  of  believers,  of  God  and  His  goodness, 
the  immortal  soul  and  the  hopes  of  another  life,  this  is 
what,  in  myself,  has  been  proof  against  all  examination, 
all  discussion,  and  even  intervals  of  despairing  doubt." 

Aurore  Dupin  left  the  convent  and  returned  to  Nohant, 
in  1820,  when  she  was  fifteen  years  of  age.  At  the 
chateau  she  now  passed  the  midnight  hours  in  study,  and 
in  considering  the  most  difficult  problems  of  existence ; 
but  her  days  were  spent  in  a  very  different  manner. 
Within  doors  she  exerted  herself  to  keep  on  peaceable 
terms  with  her  grandmother,  whose  temper  had  not 
improved  with  age,  in  practicing  the  harp,  in  drawing,  in 
studying  philosophy  and  anatomy,  and  in  getting  up  little 
comedies  to  amuse  her  elders ;  out-of-doors,  attired  for 
greater  convenience  in  a  suit  of  boy's  clothes,  with  blouse 
and  gaiters,  she  pursued  botany  or  hunted  quails  with  her 
eccentric  tutor,  M.  Deschatres.  She  was  a  fearless  rider, 
as  wrell  as  a  good  shot ;  both  these  last  accomplishments 
being  due  to  the  instruction  of  her  half-brother  Hippolyte, 
who  had  taught  her  during  a  brief  visit  home,  while  on 
leave  of  absence  from  his  regiment.  Her  daring  feats 
astonished  and  shocked  the  neighbors  ;  but  M.  Deschatres, 
who  cared  for  nothing  but  quails  and  anatomy,  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  restrain  her,  and  old  Madame  Dupin 
was  fast  falling  into  her  dotage.  The  young  girl  was  free 
from  restraint. 

A  year  later  the  old  lady  died,  leaving  all  her  property 
to  Aurore.  She  now  returned  to  her  mother  in  Paris, 
hoping  for  a  happiness  which  she  did  not  find.  Time  and 
absence  had  loosened  the  bond  between  them,  and  Madame 
Maurice  Dupin  was  not  blessed  with  an  equable  disposition. 
Aurore  obeyed  her  in  everything  without  question,  but 
this  excess  of  submission  only  exasperated  the  mother, 


554  GEORGE   SAND. 

and  it  was  a  relief  to  both  when  the  girl  went  to  visit 
some  friends  at  their  country  house  near  Melun.  Here 
she  met  M.  Casimir  Dudevant,  a  young  man-  of  twenty- 
seven,  who  was  pleased  with  her  from  the  first.  In  a 
short  time  he  offered  her  his  hand,  and  she  accepted  him. 

She  was  then  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen.  Her  hair, 
dark  and  curly,  fell  in  profusion  upon  her  shoulders ;  her 
features  were  good,  her  complexion  of  a  pale,  clear  olive 
tint,  her  eyes  dark,  soft,  and  full  of  expression.  If  her 
figure  was  somewhat  too  short,  she  possessed  small  and 
beautifully  shaped  hands  and  feet.  Her  manners  were 
simple,  her  voice  gentle  and  low.  With  strangers  and 
acquaintances  she  was  reserved,  and  did  not  shine  in  con- 
versation ;  but  among  friends  she  was  animated,  frank, 
and  charming.  It  is  little  wonder  that  M.  Dudevant  was 
attracted  by  her,  but  it  is  somewhat  surprising  that  he 
was  not  in  love  with  her.  The  marriage  was  admitted  by 
both  to  be  one  founded  upon  friendship  only.  Doubtless 
it  was  by  Aurore  regarded  as  an  escape  from  her  difficult 
relations  with  her  mother.     It  proved  a  sad  mistake. 

The  young  couple,  fatally  ignorant  of  each  other's 
character,  proved  to  have  few  tastes  in  common ;  their 
dispositions  were  wholly  uncongenial ;  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  M.  Dudevant  after  a  time  fell  into  habits 
of  dissipation.  For  the  sake  of  her  two  children,  Maurice 
and  Solange,  Madame  Dudevant  made  no  attempt  to 
release  herself,  until  at  the  end  of  eight  years,  she 
found  that  the  situation  had  become  intolerable.  She 
was  totally  indifferent  to  her  husband,  and  he  regarded 
her  with  feelings  of  positive  dislike. 

Sbe  then  made  a  curious  proposition  to  him.  For  some 
time  she  had  been  conscious  of  her  literary  talent,  and 
she  now  proposed  to  her  husband  that  he  should  permit 
her  to  spend  every  alternate  three  months  in  Paris,  there 
to  trv  her  fortune  with  her  pen.     Her  youngest  child,  the 


GEORGE    SAND.  555 

little  Solangc,  was  to  join  her  as  soon  as  she  was  com- 
fortably established  ;  her  son,  whom  she  did  not  wish  to 
remove  from  his  excellent  tutor,  if  indeed  his  father 
would  have  let  him  go,  was  to  remain  at  Nohant,  where 
she  would  herself  reside  during  six  mouths  of  the  year. 

She  was  to  be  allowed  six  hundred  dollars  per  annum 
from  her  own  fortune,  on  condition  that  she  never 
exceeded  that  sum,  and  the  rest  of  her  property  was  to 
remain  in  the  hands  of  M.  Dudevant.  To  this  singular 
compromise  he  at  once  assented,  and  she  set  out  for  the 
capital  in  1831. 

She  carried  introductions  to  one  or  two  literary  people, 
but  they  gave  her  small  encouragement.  A  novelist  to 
whom  she  first  applied  told  her  that  women  ought  not  to 
write  at  all.  Another  tried  to  cheer  her  with  the  informa- 
tion that  if  she  persevered  she  might  some  day  make  as 
much  as  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  by  writing,  although 
he  condemned  as  valueless  such  specimens  as  she  showed 
him  of  her  fiction.  He  took  her,  however,  upon  the  staff 
of  Figaro,  of  which  paper  he  was  the  editor,  and  paid  her 
for  her  labor  at  the  rate  of  seven  francs  ($1.35)  a  column. 
Her  talents  were  not  suited  to  journalism  ;  but  she  worked 
hard  and  faithfully  for  Figaro.  In  those  days  she  was 
excluded  by  her  sex  from  places  to  which,  in  her  profes- 
sion, it  was  desirable  she  should  have  access.  She  there- 
fore assumed  once  more  the  masculine  disguise  to  which 
she  had  become  accustomed  in  her  girlhood,  and  was 
enabled  to  pass  anywhere  as  a  student  of  sixteen.  After 
she  had  become  famous,  much  odium  was  cast  upon  her 
on  account  of  this  habit  of  hers  by  the  scandal-mongers. 

She  soon  made  friends  among  the  literary  Bohemians 
of  Paris,  and  many  of  her  earlier  and  briefer  works  were 
written  in  collaboration  with  one  of  them,  M.  Jules 
Sandeau,  afterwards  the  author  of  several  successful 
novels  and  plays.     These  joint  performances  included  a 


556  GEORGE   HAND. 

novelette  entitled  La  Prima  Donna,  and  a  complete  novel, 
called  Rose  et  Blanche,  which  was  published  under  M. 
Sandeau's  nom  de-plume  of  Jules  Sand.  It  was  a  book  of 
no  importance,  and  is  now  omitted  from  the  works  of  both 
its  authors,  but  it  attracted  the  notice  of  a  publisher,  who 
requested  another  volume  from  the  same  pen.  A  new 
novel  written  entirely  by  Madame  Dudevant  was  then 
lying  in  her  desk,  and  she  at  once  gave  this  into  his  hands. 
M.  Sandeau,  unwilling  to  claim  any  credit  for  a  work  in 
which  he  had  no  share,  refused  to  permit  her  to  use  their 
usual  pseudonym.  To  oblige  the  publisher,  who  wished  to 
connect  the  work  with  its  predecessor,  it  was  decided  that 
only  the  prefix  should  be  changed,  and  George,  a  favorite 
name  among  husbandmen,  was  selected  as  representative 
of  her  native  province  of  Berri.  In  April,  1832,  the  book 
appeared.     It  was  entitled,  "  Indiana,  by  George  Sand." 

Its  success  with  the  public  was  so  immediate  and  so 
great  that  the  author  was  alarmed. 

"  The  success  of  Indiana  has  thrown  me  into  dismay," 
she  wrote  to  an  old  friend.  "  Till  now,  I  thought  my 
writing  was  without  consequence  and  would  not  merit  the 
slightest  attention.  Fate  has  decreed  otherwise.  The 
unmerited  admiration  of  which  I  have  become  the  object 
must  be  justified." 

Many,  even  of  those  who  praised  her  most,  predicted 
that  she  would  never  equal  this  first  venture ;  but  Valen- 
tine, which  appeared  a  few  months  later,  convinced  them 
of  their  error.  Both  these  books  are  stories  of  unhappy 
marriage.  Indiana  is  a  romantic,  high-spirited  girl, 
bound  for  life  to  a  dull,  imperious,  but  not  bad-hearted 
man  much  older  than  herself.  The  other  chief  characters 
are  a  graceful,  heartless  scoundrel  who  makes  love  to 
her,  and  a  cousin,  a  sort  of  guardian  angel,  who,  after 
long  loving  her  in  silence,  at  last  succeeds  in  rescuing 
her  from  her  miserable  situation.     Valentine,  like  Indiana, 


GEORGE   SAND.  557 

is  the  victim  of  a  mariage  de  eonvenance.  The  highly- 
wrought  scenes  of  passion,  and  the  exaggerated  language 
of  many  passages  which  now  repel  the  reader,  were  then 
admired.  In  the  simple  portions  we  can  already  recog- 
nize that  simple,  forcible,  and  picturesque  style  which  so 
delights  us  in  her  tales  of  humble  life — in  La  Petite- 
Fadette,  and  La  Mare  au  Liable. 

The  next  work  of  Madame  Sand — for  her  friends  as 
well  as  the  public  now  learned  to  call  her  by  that  name 
— was  that  Lelia,  of  which  almost  every  one  has  heard, 
although  it  has  now,  at  least  in  England  and  America,  few 
readers.  Lelia  is  a  novel  of  impossible  characters  and 
incidents,  written  in  a  declamatory  manner.  Its  only 
interest  is  as  a  psychological  study  of  the  author,  for  into 
this  work  she  was  wont  to  say  she  had  put  more  of  her- 
self than  into  any  other.  She  nevertheless  pronounced  it 
in  later  years  absurd  as  a  work  of  art.  Lelia  surprised 
her  friends  at  the  time — although  it  pleased  most  of  them 
— and  was  highly  successful  with  the  public.  One  of  her 
friends,  a  naturalist,  wrote  to  her : 

"  Lelia  is  a  fancy  type.  It  is  not  like  you — you  who 
are  merry,  who  dance  the  bourree,  who  eippreciate  lepidop- 
tera,  who  do  not  despise  puns,  who  are  not  a  bad  needle- 
woman, and  make  very  good  preserves.  Is  it  possible 
that  you  should  have  thought  so  much, felt  so  much,  with- 
out any  one  having  any  idea  of  it  ?  " 

It  was  a  book  written  in  a  period  of  mental  depression, 
at  a  time  when  her  faith  appeared  to  be  forsaking  her. 
Although  it  is  by  no  means  typical  of  her  ordinary  fiction, 
it  was  destined  to  produce  an  impression  of  her  as  a 
writer  opposed  to  marriage  and  morality,  and  to  create  a 
prejudice  which  in  England  and  our  country  has  but 
recently  begun  to  give  way.  Some  critics  had  already 
accused  her  of  propounding  revolutionary  doctrines  in 
Indiana  and    Valentine.     It  is  true  she  declared  herself 


558  GEORGE    SAND. 

against  commercial  marriages,  and  taught  that  every 
union  should  be  based  upon  love  ;  but  this,  at  least  in  our 
fortunate  land  and  century,  does  not  strike  us  as  either 
shocking  or  novel. 

From  this  time  the  life  of  George  Sand  was  that  of  an 
indefatigable  literary  worker,  and  no  year  passed 
unmarked  by  the  issue  of  new  works  under  her  name. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  these  labors,  her  iron  constitution 
permitted  her  to  take  long  journeys,  to  enjoy  society,  and 
often  to  abandon  herself  to  the  delights  of  her  country 
home.  She  wrote  chiefly  at  night :  in  the  day  time  she 
walked,  climbed,  and  rode  horseback  as  freely  and  fre- 
quently as  in  her  girlhood,  and  her  letters  to  her  friends 
dwell  continually  upon  these  simple,  exhilarating  pleas- 
ures. She  had,  during  her  whole  life,  three  unfailing 
sources  of  delight — her  children,  nature,  and  music. 

The  strange  compromise  which  she  had  made  with  her 
husband  was  evidently  one  which  could  not  continue.  In 
1835  she  applied  for  a  divorce,  which,  after  some  diffi- 
culties with  regard  to  the  children,  was  granted  her. 
While  it  was  still  doubtful  whether  their  guardianship 
should  be  entrusted  to  her  or  to  their  father,  she  seriously 
considered  the  idea,  in  case  of  a  decision  adverse  to  her 
claim,  of  leaving  France  and  escaping  with  them  to 
America.  The  judgment  of  the  court  finally  placed  her  in 
possession  both  of  them  and  of  the  estate  of  Nohant. 
To  Maurice  and  Solange  she  was  ever  a  devoted  mother. 
She  attended  personally  to  their  education  and  shared 
their  amusements.  Their  affection  and  their  happiness 
fully  rewarded  her ;  and,  as  both  on  attaining  maturity 
made  fortunate  marriages,  she  was  enabled  to  show  herself 
as  an  excellent  grandmother  also. 

Of  Nohant  and  the  neighboring  region  she  never  tired. 
"  Never  a  cockchafer  passes  but  I  run  after  it,"  she  says, 
describing  her  country  walks ;  and  she  confesses  how,  on 


GEORGE   SAND.  559 

one  occasion,  the  sight  of  the  cooling  stream  of  the  Indre 
proved  an  irresistible  temptation  to  her,  and  she  walked 
into  the  water  fully  dressed — proceeding  afterwards 
untroubled  upon  her  twelve-mile  walk,  while  her  clothes 
dried  upon  her  in  the  sun.  Nor  did  her  interest  in  the 
villagers  ever  flag,  and  the  little  peasant  children  who 
had  been  her  playmates  in  youth  found  her  a  friend  in 
their  old  age. 

Her  life  from  middle  age  onward  was  often  saddened 
by  the  troubles  of  her  country.  In  her  political  feelings 
she  was  republican,  and  she  was  accused  of  being  a 
socialist.  Many  of  her  dear  friends  were  ardent  politi- 
cians, and  when,  after  the  flight  of  Louis  Philippe  in  1848, 
a  provisional  government  was  formed  with  Lamartine  at 
its  head,  she  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  take  a  part  in  the 
struggle. 

"  My  heart  is  full  and  my  head  on  fire,"  she  wrote  to  a 
fellow-laborer.  "  All  my  physical  ailments,  all  my  per- 
sonal sorrows  are  forgotten.  I  live,  I  am  strong,  active; 
I  am  not  more  than  twenty  years  old." 

She  worked  hard  to  strengthen  and  uphold  the  new 
government.  She  wrote  many  fiery  articles,  and  more 
than  one  ministerial  manifesto  was  attributed,  with  good 
reason,  to  her  pen.  She  never  relaxed  in  her  efforts 
until  leader  after  leader  proved  unfitted  for  his  position, 
and  to  persist  was  manifestly  useless.  Returning  from 
Paris,  where  she  had  been  staying  that  she  might  be 
upon  the  field  of  action,  to  rest  quietly  in  her  country 
home,  she  found  herself  regarded  with  horror  by  the  peas- 
ants, who  called  her  a  communist. 

"  A  pack  of  idiots,"  she  wrote  indignantly  to  a  friend, 
"  who  threaten  to  come  and  set  fire  to  Nohant !  .  . 
When  they  come  this  way  and  I  walk  through  the  midst 
of  them  they  take  off  their  hats ;  but  when  they  have 
gone  by,  they  summon  courage  to  shout,  '  Down  with  the 
communists ! ' " 


560  GEORGE   SAND. 

After  the  overthrow  of  the  Provisional  Government, 
she  had  no  desire  to  enter  politics  again.  Her  theory  of 
government  remained  unshaken,  but  she  had  little  hope 
of  seeing  it  successfully  realized  in  France  during  her  life- 
time. She  mingled  no  more  in  public  affairs  except  so 
far  as  after  the  coup  d'etat  to  ask  of  Louis  Napoleon, 
with  whom  she  had  at  one  time  corresponded,  a  pardon 
for  some  of  her  old  friends  who  had  been  condemned 
to  transportation.     Her  petition  was  granted  at  once. 

Born  in  the  last  year  of  the  First  Empire,  George  Sand 
lived  through  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  saw  the 
return  of  peace  and  prosperity.  She  was  always  sure 
that  the  good  time  would  come,  although  during  the  dark 
days  of  that  long  struggle  she  was  in  deep  sorrow  for  her 
unhappy  country,  and  painfully  anxious  for  the  safety  of 
her  own  home.  At  one  time  the  Prussians  approached 
near,  and  she  wrote  to  a  friend  that  she  worked  "  expect- 
ing her  scrawls  to  light  the  pipes  of  the  Prussians." 
But,  in  another  letter,  written  to  M.  Flaubert,  she  says 
cheerily : 

"  Mustn't  be  ill,  mustn't  be  cross,  my  old  troubadour ! 
Say  that  France  is  mad,  humanity  stupid,  and  that  we 
are  unfinished  animals  every  one  of  us ;  you  must  love  on 
all  the  same,  yourself,  your  race,  above  all,  your  friends. 
I  have  my  sad  hours.  I  look  at  my  blossoms,  those  two 
little  girls,  smiling  as  ever,  their  charming  mother,  and 
my  good,  hard-working  son,  whom  the  end  of  the  world 
will  find  hunting,  cataloguing,  doing  his  daily  task,  and 
yet  as  merry  as  Punch  in  his  rare  leisure  moments." 

Again,  less  lightly,  but  quite  as  hopefully,  she  wrote : 

"  I  do  not  say  that  humanity  is  on  the  road  to  the 
heights ;  I  believe  it  in  spite  of  all,  but  I  do  not  argue 
about  it,  which  is  useless,  for  every  one  judges  according 
to  his  own  eyesight,  and  the  general  outlook  at  the 
present  moment  is  ugly  and  poor.     Besides,  I  do  not  need 


GEORGE   SAND.  561 

to  be  assured  of  the  salvation  of  our  planet  and  its  inhabi- 
tants, in  order  to  believe  in  the  necessity  of  the  good  and 
the  beautiful ;  if  our  planet  departs  from  this  law  it  will 
perish  ;  if  its  inhabitants  discard  it  they  will  be  destroyed. 
As  for  me  I  wish  to  hold  firm  till  my  last  breath,  not 
with  the  certainty  or  the  claim  to  find  a 'good  place' 
elsewhere,  but  because  my  sole  pleasure  is  to  maintain 
myself  and  mine  in  the  upward  way." 

George  Sand  died  at  Nohant  in  1876,  nearly  seventy- 
two  years  of  age,  having  neglected  an  illness  which  she 
deemed  unimportant  until  it  was  too  late. 

"It  is  death,"  she  said  to  those  about  her;  "I  did  not 
ask  for  it,  but  neither  do  I  regret  it." 

For  a  week  she  lingered  in  great  suffering,  but  con- 
scious and  courageous  to  the  last.  Her  thoughts  turned 
to  the  quiet  village  cemetery  where  she  was  soon  to  rest, 
and  almost  her  last  words  referred  to  the  trees  growing 
there.  She  desired  that  none  of  them  should  be  disturbed, 
or  so  her  children  interpreted  the  words : 

"Ne  touchez  pas  a  la  verdure." 

At  her  funeral,  which  took  place  in  a  pouring  rain,  the 
country  people,  who  had  long  ago  ceased  to  call  her 
communist,  flocked  in  from  miles  around.  There,  too, 
were  men  of  letters,  scientists,  and  artists,  for  she  had 
made  friends  and  kept  them  in  all  ranks  of  life.  Her 
bier  was  borne  by  six  peasants,  preceded  by  three  chor- 
ister boys  and  the  ancient  clerk  of  the  parish,  and  she 
was  buried  close  by  the  graves  of  her  father,  her  grand- 
mother, and  two  little  grandchildren  whom  she  had  lost. 
A  plain  granite  monument  now  marks  her  resting  place. 

The  works  of  George  Sand,  including  novels,  stories, 
and  plays,  are  so  numerous  that  only  a  very  few  of  them 
can  find  mention  here.     Among  the  most  famous  are  the 


562  GEORGE   SAND. 

"  Letters  of  a  Traveler,"  the  unfortunate  "  She  and  He  " 
(File  et  Lui),  "Lucrezia  Floriani,"  "Consuelo,"  and  the 
three  delightful  tales  of  peasant  life,  entitled  respectively, 
"La  Petite  Fadctte  " — upon  which  the  familiar  play  of 
Fanchon  the  Cricket,  is  founded — "The  Devil's  Pond" 
(La  Mare  du  Diable),  and  "  Francois  le  Champi,"  from 
which  she  afterwards  made  a  play. 

The  "  Letters  of  a  Traveler  "  are  a  very  striking  series 
Written  after  a  journey  through  Switzerland  and  Italy,  in 
company  with  the  poet  Alfred  de  Musset,  her  further  rela- 
tions with  whom  are  depicted  in  the  story  u  She  and  He," 
published  after  his  death.  This  work  was  regarded  by 
the  public  as  ungenerous,  if  not  unjustifiable;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  after  the  breach  between  them,  De 
Musset  had  not  spared  her  in  his  verse.  Her  book  was 
intended  as  a  defence  of  herself;  but  it  had  the  force  of  a 
judgment  upon  him.  It  was  soon  replied  to  by  the  poet's 
brother  in  another  tale,  entitled  "  He  and  She,"  in  which 
Madame  Sand  was  represented  in  a  light  even  more 
unfavorable  than  that  in  which  she  had  placed  the  hero 
of  her  story.  It  is  probable  that  each  version  of  the 
affair  contained  truth.  Doubtless  de  Musset  and  Madame 
Sand  were  both  in  fault,  for  two  such  pronounced  per- 
sonalities could  not  long  have  accommodated  themselves 
to  each  other.  Their  difficulties,  however,  should  never 
have  been  submitted  to  the  public. 

In  "  Lucrezia  Floriani  "  she  was  believed  to  have  com- 
mitted a  similar  error,  since  the  unpleasing  character  of 
Karol  was  by  many  supposed  to  represent  her  old  friend 
and  companion,  Chopin  the  composer.  She  denied  that 
such  was  the  case,  and  it  is  evident  that  she  did  not 
intend  a  portrait,  although  there  were  points  of  resem- 
blance. Through  the  interference  of  unwise  acquaint- 
ances, however,  the  book  caused  a  breach  between  Chopin 
and  herself.     In  many  of  her  other  Avorks  too  curious 


GEORGE   SAND.  5G3 

critics  have  claimed  to  discover  pictures  of  eminent  per- 
sons with  whom  she  was  acquainted :  some  have  even 
believed  that  in  the  ideal  heroine  "  Consuelo  "  they  could 
perceive  a  representation  of  the  famous  Madame  Yiar- 
dot. 

"  Consuelo,"  although  one  of  the  most  diffuse,  is  by 
many  considered  the  best  among  George  Sand's  novels. 
There  is  power  in  it ;  but  its  incidents  seem  to  us  extrava- 
gant and  its  personages  unreal.  At  present  we  care  less 
for  ideal  characters  and  improbable  adventures,  and  more 
for  delineations  of  men  and  women,  with  their  weak- 
nesses and  their  strength,  such  as  may  be  found  among 
ourselves.  Those  of  George  Sand's  works  which  will 
longest  be  read  are  narratives  like  "  Andre*,"  "  La  Mar- 
quise," and  the  pleasant  tales  to  which  we  have  referred. 
In  them  her  heroes  and  heroines  are  studied  from  the 
life,  and  the  scenery  amid  which  they  are  placed  is  such 
as  she  had  herself  visited  in  her  travels,  or — and  this  far 
oftener — that  which  lay  close  around  her  own  home,  in 
her  fair  and  fertile  native  province. 

34 


